My heart
it beats.
It beats a rhythmic drum,
as it crawls up my chest
and suffocates my throat.
I am drowning in thoughts,
plunging headfirst into longings
and desires and questions.
I am floating in waves of anxiety,
which beat against the walls of my stomach,
crying out hallow cries to my heart,
who ignores them.
Who am I? I demand them all.
The most logical,
the brain,
sputters and mumbles half-formed
answers
that fizzle and die on the way to the heart.
I am a bird with one wing, neither creature of sky
or earth.
A distant and too-small spot on the canvas
of the universe.
Broken houses with empty walls,
locks without keys.
Half-asked questions with silent answers;
I am waiting and wondering.
Not who,
but what?