It’s funny how the heart works...
even when it’s broken and weak
it still pulsates with haunting throbs.
It’s slow, drumming rhythm
taunting the mind with every beat.
Cruelly it refuses to die,
death would be too kind,
would bring too much relief.
I need relief.
I need reprieve from this aching.
So I ask...
but all I am given are tears.
Tears are supposed to bring release,
but only bring more silent screams,
more quiet weeping.
Every attempt to gather the broken pieces,
to bind them together,
leaves my soul severed and bleeding,
engraved deeper with the realization
that you are gone.
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