Anxieties of an Exploding Man

First came anatomy,
tortured blood cells and bated breath.

All the shrapnel held together, flying outward, searching for a brand new center to
revolve around.

Daggers hound the helpless in
their direct trajectory,
but they’re millisecond hosts,
celestial bodies I count
inhabitable,

and I pass their
cores like apoplexy,
man on fire and his affable jacket,
bulletproof vest beneath.

Symbiotic in theory but
pretty toxic, nearly
perfect parasite, fearlessly
autonomous as
mismatched socks and
their third wheels.

Forgive the zeal,
for it can be overzealous, simultaneous care
and jealousy,
enveloping me in long-shelved lore, searching what I’m still fighting schizophrenic heartbeats for,
while the spores form,
a phoenix in my diaphragm
reborn,
and the wingspans
of damage (self-inflicted as may be),
crush my lungs with their
own loves of labour.

Parasitic saviour feeds upon my paragraphs, and you would hardly ever know if not for the skin grafts my metaphors favour.

Razor to wrist as starry eyes are to a first kiss,
heartless is to human,
bad behaviour is to the
etiquette of our common
creator,

a neighbour we saw murdered for his loose change.

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