there is cement in my veins.
running through all of my capillaries,
underneath my skin and through my fingertips,
cement to keep each molecule in its proper place
and restrain the bits that want to break free.
the cement is grey and hard,
and the places where it gathers are
unbearably weighed down.
my heart, where all blood runs to cry,
where all blood goes home to leave
and to stay, is full now of
man-made stone.
there is cement in my veins and my heart
is too heavy to sustain.