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