Scotch Tape Venice

Propped up with popsicle sticks and tape from my desk
The show must go on
(whether or not a Universe ceased to be last night)
Broken hearts still beat,
labored lungs wheeze and continue their work
As should I

Tear-puffed eyes labor against sympathetic glances
Spare me your pity, fools
I walked into this love of my own volition
and I walked out the same
There are bills still unpaid, plans yet unfinished

Wooden sticks and sticky tape
cannot heel every hounding thought,
cannot shelter the entirety of this storm-
So if you really want to help me,
hand me a roll of barbed wire and a bucket of pigeon poop

I will make of these miserable remnants
a Venician citadel
(with all due expectation of flooding and raining nights)
This fortress need not last forever-
just long enough to float me through the mire

Eventually I'll let her sink,
but for now, she's all I've got

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