somewhere in a room, a man carries his heart
on his hands & places this element so fragile
on the palms of another.
hope becomes the sharp edges on the tip of a scalpel,
in the beep beep sound that tears the silence,
in the warm breath that struggles out of a face mask.
somewhere in another corner, anger is hanged
in the dark spaces of an Instagram DM.
assumptions creep in, seeping through his mind.
f i l l i n g.
perhaps if for a moment, we can just stop
& learn to give space sometimes for a second doubt.
stress would be saved, feelings won’t be wasted
and some memories can be a pipe, unclogged of regrets.