the black heart mafia

a mafia of one,
come undone,
flung from the clutches
of warmth and love
with a song unsung
when she hung her hat
on the lowest rung
of the long stepladder
that stretches from the soul
straight up to god’s eyes
so that every time she lies
she stumbles more with every step,
frets, distresses, grapples with this regret,
rejects the stories that they told her
and the ones that console her
while the feelings unravel, unroll,
leaving her cold, taking a toll;
a pile of string tangled up upon itself
and tangled up in everything
and the consequences of having these wings
that are pinned together at her back
so the only way to fly
is at the expense of bloodshed
and the intense desire to dispose
of all that she knows
and all that she loves,
just let go,
fly out to the sea
and let her empty
black heart bleed
black as the night,
flooded with fright,
terrified of heights,
the string was cut,
severed the kite,
now all that’s left is this fight.

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