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. 


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