Strings

strings are birthed from my fingertips and hands, and i am a body made of knots that span to all the places i have ever been. they stretch me out like the vitruvian man.

we are all just frayed edges and threads, incomplete, so i am a believer in fate and the call of a heartbeat. you may see the riggings of my chest through my gaze. i carve it all into me like the leather of a car seat,

and the miles crack open beneath my skin, i am stitched into the upholstery of our sins tugging me back to the headlines and rains. and are breathing and breathless at the fire within.