Manic Heart

I have a manic heart. 
It’s not made of the real stuff. 
Just gelatin, sprinkles, and glaze. 
Fake like cracked tiles (don’t believe them.)

I have a manic heart. 
I dropped everything like it was her birthday cake. 
No one died, I hope. 
They just gasped and cried because I had done it (plop.)

I have a manic heart. 
Does it remember lists, names, or random junk?
Like a cardboard box grunting. 
I hate the real stuff, the golden, sopping stuff. 

I have a manic heart. 
Tried to surrender once. 
I have a manic heart. 
Maybe twice.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2026

Poem

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Tucker Avatar
March 7, 2026 at 1:10 AM
Your manic heart demands a big emotional context - this poem asserts this demand. Good on you for putting this forward!
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