rhythm of the line.

foolish to think, foolish

to feel this way. but
it's heavy on my chest, 
wrought-iron wrapped
around my ribs. strings 
of words like: 

sun-burnt clichés, I said

you inspire me, and

you believed it, kept it,

locked it tight

in your fist. but you

could have been anyone.

you said we were
just always, always 
and never. but what
boils beneath, like
blood below the skin so
thin. I know you think

I'm a fool.