Today I went to work.
I smiled while I asked for extra time
for my exams, what I really meant was
extra time
for my heart

It is malignant, you see, and lately it's been telling me stories that swell
and will result in death.

Stories of when I fell in love with a narcoleptic girl,
in a pub where we clung to psalms and souls
like I was about to move to the other side of the world
and pray with my chest
tucked safely into calendars.

Stories that would unfold when I got on a plane
all foetus-like and frightened, stories like this,
of secrets like this that run through my bloodstream

and I would scream
at emergency exit signs (if I could talk to the future me)
but those signs;
they would not let me go.