Slow is the step of the broken hearted
Dragging heels they mourn the departed
Quickly though, thoughts feed anguish
Until its glutenous presence extinguish
All hope for better days.
Slow is the step of the broken hearted
Dragging heels they mourn the departed
Quickly though, thoughts feed anguish
Until its glutenous presence extinguish
All hope for better days.
O this ache has found new depths
Burrowing deeper with every second
Spent in exile from your caress.
I haven’t a clue if I have spoken
Out of term, or have I broken
Some trust you thought I’d earned?
O how I wish you’d tell me dear,
Why it is you refuse to come near,
When just days before,
On our warm golden shore,
We drank the stars to our delight
Until the pale silver light,
Of a full moon bathed your skin
In an ethereal glow.
O how I wish you’d come back
To the ways of yesterday
O how I wish, how I wish…
Before I fall too far, away from you
Before the weight of loneliness,
Implodes, rending my heart in two.
My love is a prescription drug
It’s full of cautions and side effects,
Warning of overdose.
It can heal and it can destroy
Though mostly it destroys me…
The ache he feels spreads to his fingertips
From the core of a beating crimson heart,
It eats away at him from the inside.
Rapidly expanding like a sheet of ice.
When time and time again he fails
And time and time again he tries
His heart, a broken furnace, seized mid-rhyme
As icicle thoughts plunge through gray matter
And limbs lose momentum with each stride,
The life he once knew, never seemed further
Or more difficult to hide.
When you see yourself through the distorted lens of depression, you have trouble recognizing your own reflection. You can’t see the seam separating your normal self from the irrational being that calls you its host, and shows none of the courtesies a guest should uphold. The lines blur, and all that’s left is a pain that washes over your heart like a malevolent wave lapping upon your withered soul; a pulsating ache that ebbs with the ever-changing tide of humanity.
It would be unwise to decipher the ache in his heart.
So much so that he truly believes
If he were to dig down into the depths
To recall the origin of that wretched,
unwelcome, drowning sensation,
He would no longer have the strength
To climb out of that pitch black hole.
That he may be forced along Dante’s path
With no guide nor God to lead him safely.
For within those depths he will plunge, and
The path of the absurd waits hungrily at the crossroad.
Do I recite the name in hopes it will bring back that old sensation
When hope was in the air, and just that word could reincarnate
Every bit of splendor that we shared?
No.
All that’s left is the smudge in hindsight
The blur that fights for recognition,
When I’d really prefer,
It stay no more, or no less, than a tiny, insignificant blur
It saddens me that in this day and age, the majority of my generation cares more for what we display on the outside, rather than focus on the souls we stow on the inside. Until this trend diminishes, I do not see myself finding true love, but rather ignorant love.
Another note: If only we realized how full of shit each and every one of us really is, this world would be a better place
Is there no end to the guilt that I feel?
Do I blame myself for another’s yield?
If light means life then I must concede;
the darkness has found me, as daylight recedes.
It smears carbon black over eyes pearl white.
Concealing the pleasure, enforcing the blight.
The agony is a bore, life becomes a chore;
when all that I can fathom
is the day it ran me ragged.
It’s enough to kill a man, unrequited love.
It’s enough to keep his Winters frigid
and his Summers smoldering.
He’ll rarely feel comfort anymore.
At times a glimmer crosses his eye
and normality kisses his forehead,
then skitters off down the lane,
laughing as the man’s futile stride
stumbles over a storm drain
Collapsing to his knees,
cursing what’s left
Of his mediocre life.