"This is getting weird I better go"

You loved him the way coffee rings cling to paper. Serendipitous. 
Simultaneously beautiful and tragic.

And so the needle of the compass keeps spinning.
Oh how cliche.
I need a sense of fucking direction. 
Tres drole.

Trust that my heart has never hurt this much. 
It's used to bleeding.
Suffocating not so much.

The walls are becoming thick and rigid.
It's getting harder to breathe.

The final blow hits you chest center.
Post air-born your head smacks the pavement 

Eyes open
The room is spinning
The compass is still spinning
You close your eyes again.