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Tag Archives: Broken

I’ve been shooting off flares all week,

In hopes you’d find your way back to me.

Because it seems like we’re oceans apart,

Each day in exile continues to ravage my heart.

Memories of us when life felt perfect,

Haunt me like nightmares as I reflect,

On where things could have gone wrong,

When only weeks before we were humming along,

To a love song with the lights turned down low,

And your smile was the only thing making the room glow.

Now I lay restless in a pathetic drunken gloom,

Wishing I could be anywhere but alone in this room.

I’m fairly confident that my heart is in fact an idiot.

My friends tell me to follow it, that it won’t lead me astray,

But boy would I beg to differ; my heart is a drunkard,

And if I heed its word one more time I may never recover.

The last time I succumbed to its siren song,

I wound up drinking malbec wine in a Mexican restaurant at noon.

Not to say the food wasn’t good, but when you play, Volver, Volver

A half dozen times on the barely functioning jukebox,

as you savor the last drops of glass number four,

it’s safe to say you’ve reached the lowest of lows.

At least from there I had nowhere else to go,

but up… until my heart had something else to say.

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.

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