Cardiac Tamponade

Bandaids

won’t fix

this bullet hole.

Scars can’t disguise

this once barren soul.

You won’t see me.

You can’t listen.

Never

will we both glimmer, or glisten

Bandaids won’t cover

this gaping hole

Not he

Not we

No.

It’ll never be she.

What’s lost

in gritted compromise,

is now

willful demise.

Please,

mother?

…is this all we’ll ever be?