It’s a disease,
A deadly one
Wet, red, beady ovals layered over blue irises creates a bloodshot screen,
Too often associated with drug or alcohol addicts,
Fingers tremble, fumbling the bow and arrow, aiming it
It should be pointed at me, since he was already struck.
Only once a year will this work, pressure to complete the task
Makes me see hearts, the red and pink kind that cartoons see when they fall in love.
Lining up the point with the pulse, bow towed and released.

The arrow missed.

My chest swells rapidly, a desperate attempt to relieve the blinding pain,
There is no air. It is 11:59 February 14, there is no more time.
If I die tonight, tell him that I love him,
But I remember my plea will fall to deaf ears,
He has no idea what he means to me.