etymology of heartbreak

sarah yang

Almost is a word that smells like

Beethoven’s treble

Clefs, lyrical sigils

Dancing over candles that

Eventually forget the warmth of

Fire. The word holds me hostage in its

Grotesque embrace, addiction dripping from

Haunted eyes: tears, but not quite

Intricate enough to be considered sorrow.

Just tears that fill up

Kaleidoscopes, a vivid spectrum of the million shades between crimson and scarlet

Lingering on the fingertips of

Morality’s indifference. Desire goes

Nowhere, but stays everywhere all at

Once. If you taste

Penance on your tongue, don’t

Question the cicatrix it leaves

Running through your veins when you

Swallow it on the silver spoon. Moonlight will not soften

The echoed heartbeats of the ventricle

Unless the

Viscous regret strangling the forgotten

Willow trees relinquish. Almost is a blurred photograph, laced with

Xanthic pomegranates that fade when

You dream too much about the

Zenith of a benign necropolis.

Sarah Yang (she/her) is a seventeen year old poet who currently resides in Panama City. She is an alumni of Yale Young Writers and Kenyon Young Writers Workshops. Her work also appears in Rewrite the Stars Magazine and Mosaic Lit Journal. Sarah enjoys the soft light of the sunset on the ocean and baking cinnamon rolls.

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