Drop after drop of deep burgundy liquid seeps from my crack-packed heart.
At such a pace that I’m certain it fills my frail body
All the way to the top
And do you know where it comes out?
My eyes.
Purified, clear for the public eye. Salty.
The burgundy waves smothering my desperate soul are the reason for the saltiness. But only I experience that, when the tear rolls down over the pot hole I call my mouth, covered by my pale lips.