Nowhere in particular

Illumination.

Stagnation.

Vibration of fractured

pieces of a trinket heart

on a charm bracelet.

A mirror created by the crystallized

tears of trauma.

Trapped nonexistence

in liquid nostalgia,

like a lavender cloud of magic hour.

Pieces jingle at my wrist,

a song of my love for you.

Lonely puppet boy

with a face morphed by

the reflection of their desires,

longing to be real.

Sing, jingle-jangle.

Bones crinkle

in the eternal winter,

until the silhouette of a paper heart

spews curdled blood.

Boiling, throbbing, overflowing,

an overwhelming hole of sobbing love.

The song fades

like a wind-chime in the dream world.

I wake up and forget the words.

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