I fear my own heart

I’m trying to pry myself away from my stupid heart which wrapped a spiderweb of veins around my body, cramming blood into my hand and making it feel empty without another human clutching it. My heart sprouts roots that twist around my feet, dragging me back to childhood, honey light, and ghosts. Tentacles pulse in my brain, I’m curled up and stupid, sobbing over the goodbyes and graves of ghosts, and the throbbing of the honey light, and how you can’t go backward but only be tugged till your lungs fissure and veins break like dams. Your heart will murder a thousand bodies, then you will haunt yourself. I will not forgive my stupid heart, but I beg strangers and loves to take both me and the tangle of heart, to hold our hands and stare at the pinpricks of dead stars and pretend the sky is the only haunted thing.