Friday, 30 January 2015

Walking around with a broken heart

There is not much to say
Except the throat promises to burst any moment
And the chest, it’s still figuring out what to do
With all the space
Now that the heart is recoiling and shrinking
Hugging itself in the warm shower
The pretense of being loved
Despite the prickly broken-ness
The lie of laughing a little too loudly
Hoping someone will understand
That the damn joke is just not funny

Walking around with a broken heart
Like carrying your severed arms in your mouth
Dragging your broken legs in the burning sun
Punctures, wounds that keep spilling
The pain drips like water from a cracked drain
Picking it up in glasses, you have a bag full of hurt
Trying to clean up after
the bleeding ruptures of your broken heart.


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