Inside Eponine

As I realize
you have no intention,
the thought vacuums my heart.

In my head, vise grips pinch,
closing arteries and veins.
Noxious gas slides upward
from my heart like stealth,
underwater air pockets,
their unpredictable patterns
rising toward the ocean’s surface–
toward the place where they
meet the sky and disburse.
Pockets of realization drip
ether, soak my synapses,
mock my dreams,
leave me at once numb
and bruised.

No one, not even those
near, can hear my sadness
ripple away, can add salve
to my aching soul,
can hear the real fall.
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