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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