Apocalypse

Amalia Bowen-Sicalides's poem "Apocalypse" deals with an apocalypse of the heart.
Visual art by Jahaira Anaya 
There is an earthquake
in her chest
every time she exhales and you can feel it
ruining you.
You are slowly
falling apart
the gale force wind of each of her breaths
widening cracks in your skull
behind your ears
And every time you
hear her voice
the aching in your chest
can’t mean anything but
your imminent demise
and no one ever said it would hurt so much.
But these are
end times
and all the rules are changing
the beat of your heart is a
	time	bomb and nothing
is making
contact
clutching fingers
	and searching lips
and there is no more
air in your lungs
or maybe we’re running out of oxygen.
She digs her
	fingers into your hips as if
she’s gonna tear you
in
two
and you could almost believe it
so maybe the thing to do
is
	curl your fingers
around the
		curve of her
	jaw
and hold on
	until the	tremors
			stop.
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