11 Days.

10 Minutes.

No Edits.

Raw Writing.

Close to heart.

Enjoy!

Hearts

My head on your chest. My eyes shut tight — all the better to hear the rhythmic clicking sound of your mechanical heart.

Tick-tock. The valves open and shut.

Tick-tock. The timer counts down.

Tick-tock. The daily steps are logged.

Tick-tock. The tick waits in the grass.

Tick-tock. The arachnid latches on.

Tick-tock. The game gets got.

My hand rests on my own chest. I relish the rhythm of my own thumping organ, all muscle and heartstrings.

The disease has spread.

There is this sick realization that despite this, yours is mine. You’ve given it to me, willingly with no strings attached. You reach out to check my pulse, my wrist in your palm, and yet you never found the beat.

Сайхан Бичээрэй!

H