Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.

Add comment   Close
Ben Bulac Ben Bulac
Recommendations: 1


Share this writing

Link to this writing

Start Writing

More from Ben Bulac

Star Fire
Glass wings
Organ Grinder Monkey

More Poetry

Deborah Boydston Deborah Boydston
Recommendations: 45
Murder in the Senseless
Leoni Carlson Leoni Carlson
Recommendations: 12
Aaron Greene Aaron Greene
Recommendations: 30
Author's Clog
Leonard a. Wronke Leonard a. Wronke
Recommendations: 23
Kitchera Hicks Kitchera Hicks
Recommendations: 11
soul mates

The heart is a fragile thing,
It bends and splits with the passage
Of time, Time that carries with it
The memories of kisses that taste
Like ash and shades of days,
That are better left forgotten.

The heart is a broken thing.
It cracks and ages slowly.
With every heartache,
It loses its luster and dims,
To a hazy sheen and dust
Chokes its afterglow

The heart is a dying thing,
It lives with a thousand fissures
That no amount of tears can fill
It grasps for air and struggles
To live while new relationships,
Suture the wounds left by love lost

The heart is dead and buried.
It is lost underneath a sea of excuses
And lies that we tell each other
It is mourned only by poets and madmen,
It’s body embalmed in music and literature,
Its soul condemned to a hell of romantic comedies,

The heart is gone but the body remains,
A simulacrum of a human that functions
But does not feel nor dreams,
A ghost that can no longer touch
Nor be touched for it has lost what it means
To be alive and to be free.

Link to this writing

Share this writing

Next: did you never say 'i love you' just to throw it in my face?