#leoforever

I tell you about the little heart that beats in the dead. I am not dead you say. I am not dead so my heart beats big you say. My heart beats like a Sony Walkman, big, duh. My heart is a teenage girl’s eyes, it’s 1998 and Leo will hold on, won’t hold on — the ship is not a little heart — it’s like God will sink this ship. Why not? This ship beats

like a motherfucker. When I undress, your wrist beats and I want to sexy talk all over it. Your wrist is dead weight on my waist. I watch TV and get a little turned on watching reruns, knowing whose heart will get eaten last. It’s not like it’s 1998, and we still have three years till the iPod gives the Sony Walkman

a firefly heart. The firefly died on the day, my Sony Walkman somewhere out in the desert. Your heart beats slower in the desert air. Your desert heart is so 1998. We should be big heads on a movie poster, dead trumpets left in shallow graves, and your heart nothing but a spit-stained trombone. This is a little

honest, but I love it when your mouth is a little shut. I love it when my headphones crackle, when my Sony Walkman has that little red light. The batteries are dead my heart whispers in the sexiest falsetto of all time. Really, it beats the falsettos of the boy bands on my ex girlfriend’s wall. She’s dead, not really. She’s holed up with some guy she met in 1998,

the same year she saw Titanic eight times in three weeks. In 1998 I was too young to know how to cry with my shoulder blades. Little by little I crack, her voice a symphony I mute. Your voice is dead when I’m underwater. I’m flying Jack, I’m flying. My Sony Walkman is dead when I’m underwater: the batteries don’t say anything: the beats stagnate. I build your heart a replica heart.

I tell it stories of how it’s so much better than your real heart. Your replica heart scratches, skips. I blow on it, but it’s not 1998 and two years later the world won’t end, but beats in your heart will go on. I’m sad enough that a little piece of me is stuck under a punctured life raft. My Sony Walkman is an iceberg melting in bath water, almost dead.