sometimes i am like a big heart. not the metaphorical valentine, mind you, but the muscle, the meat and the blood. i feel like the deep matter of me all rushes out at some high pressure, squeezed and forced and met with clumsy resistance. a rag placed over a heart and everything sprays through and around it, making a bigger mess on the walls and all over my hands. making me look guilty of being myself with that blood all over me. i am prone to acting out of irrationality, or at least making a scene out of the possibility of doing so. i wring my hands in fear and stand awed at the same time at what comes out of me, me the heart.
and then the second phase of that beating occurs. the downswing, the sucking up of deoxygenated me. it scares me because i go from this acid bubbling inside to a stone, unaffected and curiously unhindered. like i could fall out of love just by wishing it so, or pick up a callousness of my choosing. this is a false sense of control and like an unscrupulous card table where everyone pretends everyone else is not cheating and says to themselves it's only cards as they brandish a pistol under the table or give a signal to an even more unscrupulous whore with a dagger in her cleavage.
and at every beginning of each cycle, i am reset, unable to convert any external knowledge and apply it to the reaction. like a closed self-sustaining experiment that's been segregated and impenatrable and left, forgotten, to continue on indefinately.
i am a bystander, an onlooker, a lurker, to my own mental and emotional homeostasis.
imagine the sky is red one day. a red so frightening and realistic that you forget yourself and are victimized like you can't remember when. only the same thing happened last week, just as powerful, and every swing back to blue cuts off the red so dramatically that you are fooled it's all over. are nearly embarrassed at yourself like the next day after drinking.
i am a drunk. drunk on the pumping heart that is me. emotionally hallucinating and i can't figure out where the reality starts and stops, if it does at all. a head-tripping heart, gushing and withdrawing back to...to what?
this can't be fucking right, dear reader. (how the fuck would i know?) but what can i do? appreciate the storm for it's nature i suppose. after all, these words right now are just stains on the rag, where usually i just stand and watch it all leak and spray. horrified albeit, but generally free of hysteria, no matter what you may read or interpret.

thump-thump...thump-thump...thump-thump...

and on and on.
making art out of a heart.