a night like 20 nights ago

i hate my longing
heartache
and how butterflies arise
late at night
when i hear a knock
on my window
shutter, shutter. it's
thorough
and soft
slipping through the holes
in my heart
and listening to this
song on replay
is killing time,
pushing the clock on my
heart
to a sad ending.
further away i walk
feeling skin on my own
tender
heartbeat, which is
beating faster
and faster
causing holes to spill open,
watery paint
creeping through,
seeping through
unstained cracks in the wood.
leaving me to walk
alone,
with part of
the whole
gone
away from the rest
that walks on.