There is a boy I know, who haemorrhages rainbows

He soars with eyes that perforate

Through pretension and decade-old despondencies

He says he misses a girl,

He doesn’t utter this with his mouth

But the words slip out of his pores

When reminiscence stains the brown carpet

Crocheted together with tomorrow’s sunrises

And when he whispers, the room shakes

There are images inside him that make

it hard for him to reach forty winks

Her smile is a thief,

He walks a little off these days

I ask him why this is

He replies, ‘I am living without a heart’

Writer: Kabomo Vilakazi       Photographer: Lwazi Hlope