As he walked around campus while it was abandoned and lonely made him think about how everyone has different lives, broken hearts, and pierced souls. Different symptoms of an anger that continues its bubbling. How the sun rises after a pour of rain like tears run from eyes. How the land is scarred and charred like a part of everyone deep down, digging into places that sit inside the pit of a stomach, causing it to cease and spill into a pool of sorrow filled with choked words and old memories.
Doesn’t it hurt to throw it all away in such a violent fashion? Feeling your heart ache but your mind tearing you away? Sitting in a pool of your own blood and waiting like a lost dog at someone’s door, wet and unwanted. It is a violent, sudden, and erratic thought, but it feels more freeing than a blow of wind against his face.
Still, he wanted to feel himself on the inside. To turn himself inward so that all his organs were vulnerable and see what spills out onto the floor. Cut open and deep, and watch the puddles grow into an epiphany of pain. He, too, was like a flower that was wilting, eroding, and simultaneously living throughout its inevitable death. One by one, all of his petals would be cut off and fall to the ground for someone to catch and admire their beauty. The beauty of a tattered and dying soul, bleeding from the heart that was stolen the moment he was born.
