they can't be pulled

You said you’d tie me up in your heartstrings, to feel the anguish and pain when you were upset, but I can’t imagine how fictional braces for that muscle would sustain restraining me. I suppose, if I were to humour you briefly, that if I could be ensnared by them, every beat of your heart would

_constrict // r e l a x  _constrict // r e l a x  

them and I.
Perhaps instead of metaphorically whinging through pixels and poems, you could talk these problems out with me. Heartstrings don’t need to be pulled or snapped, just perpetuate love. In fact, they don’t need to do anything. Because they don’t exist. At all.

Maybe this is why your eyes leak around me, every teardrop a different dispute, drowning out any whim of dialog.

_{maybe I should take a poetry class}