I drew maps on my veins today,
in hopes to get my heart back.
I heard you’ve already managed to
give yours away again;
I’d like to do the same,
but memories of us flood
my bloodstream like a cancer,
attacking everything good that’s left,
which I know isn’t much now.

I drew maps on my veins today,
and I wonder if she traced
the lines of yours like I once did.
I wonder how long it will take
for her to soak up your radiation too.
I hope you never turn her
ghost, or shadow, or breath of
someone who once was.

I hope that she never has to ask
for her heart back in a postmarked box,
that she never looks forward to
a remission of forgetting your laughter.

I hope you never leave her
like you left me.

—  jnt: hope (in regards to cancer and maps and the new girl) // day 30/30
1. uniforms knocked on the door with a flag in their hands.
the details of his death are blackout poetry entitled ‘government secrets.’
his mother will never know her son’s last moments.

2. his best friend died in front of him
and he spends the rest of his life trying to see him again at the bottom of every bottle,
in his wife’s bruises,
in the tears of his children.

3. 'alive’ does not mean 'unbroken.’
the machine gun in his head will not stop firing.
safe is not a feeling he will get the privilege to meet again.
—  jnt: for the men i lost to war // day 5/30