love is a disease that i welcomed easily
i ran into it's arms and got stabbed right in the heart
betrayed by the feeling that i had always trusted most
and when i fell back hoping to be caught
you weren't there, you weren't there
i fell right to the floor, you told me you loved me
and then you left me there cold and sore
There’s something in my chest
A disease manifesting in my heart
It latches to my nerves and infects my brain
It overflows from my heart
Oozing through my ribs like a thick river
Of butterflies and tired words
Remembered laughs and the sound of your voice
But lately it’s a symphony of voices
A theatre full of musicians playing my heartstrings
You’re a musician baby, and so are they
Infected with too much love for too many people
It’s a heart transplant
But they don’t take my old heart out first
Just add more and more until they spill from my ribs
Filling every corner of me until I crack
But baby I love it
just now my heart gave two great
and heaving beats
that shuddered my whole chest.
i know this is just a symptom
of the cardiac quirk i inherited from my mother
but it felt to me like some sort of physical closure.
for a moment after it happened
my chest didn't have that emptiness anymore.
my body is healing my nonbody.
that's what it felt like.
for a second, anyway.
For so long I have held it to heart
that to be affected is to be infected,
so much so that it has become a disease;
my heart disease.
Not bought on by an over consumption of calories
but a product of being ill at ease with those around me
and that within me,
so better bin me. Better? Bin me.
I'm done being me.
hands inspire words to be typed by other hands
my heart is beating
i can see it
my stomach bounces a little each time
low blood pressure typically means a low chance of heart disease but a big chance of not giving much of a shit about anything
bed stained where skin touched skin beautiful act ugly reminder
dont clip fingernails often enough stay dirty work in food industry
coffee farmers drink coffee made from the worst beans of the harvest magnum opus never experienced by artist
motorcycles are a good way of saying i have a lot of money and care about nothing
Wonder of love
Passes through the heart
Leaving special blessings
Warming the soul
Sealing the cracks
that were left in heartache
Love heals all wounds
that pierce the soul
Setting it free once again
Love is medicine sent from above
Healing the lonely and afflicted
Sick in heart
Disease is creeping through
Tearing families apart
God is trying to heal our wounds
If only we'll let him be a part
Thoughts and troubles build walls
that only he can tumble
if only we are willing to trust him with our lives
Pushing aside doubts and fears
taking his hand inside the troubles
Even when it's all we see
He's there inside the rumble
If only you believe.
By Weeping willow
The Purple Heart
Is not only a military decoration,
Though that decoration is deservingly given,
To those who perished in some way, serving their country,
For "Being wounded or killed in any action against an enemy of the United States
or as a result of an act of any such enemy or opposing armed forces."
You see now,
The Purple Heart,
It's also means what I have, The Purple Heart.
It's the type of heart disease that society and medicine don't talk about,
The kind you get after your heart's been beaten up.
I'm not the only person with The Purple Heart,
It's actually an epidemic, and it kills people every day --
But nobody wants to talk about it,
Because if they talk about it,
They just might catch it too.
The Purple Heart doesn't just affect the heart,
It gets in the blood, it eats at the mind,
Coursing through the veins of unsuspecting victims,
Victims of abuse, negligence, turmoil, but they don't get medals, they get pushed down,
Victims that are heroes.
Wash my brain
Wash it clean
Burn it down with kerosene
Self inflicted lobotomy
I wish I could tell you what's wrong with me
I bring new meaning to heart Disease
Everything I love runs speedily
It's for the best
Don't you agree?
They'll never see
My crazy streak
They'll love me for
What I am not
The empty smiles
And pointless thoughts
I'll put them in my special box
and pretend that I forgot
This is just a game I play
to keep the rain at bay
Nothing more to say
I was born this way
through the window
circling in blue
I sit here
and look at them
I am not dead yet.
something is dead or dying out there
but it is not me.
that’s not entirely true.
we are all dying in different stages
on varying timelines.
I might drop dead
on my way to the fridge
to get another beer.
a lurking aneurysm
a car accident
anything might get me at any second.
falling into the final dream
is all one can hope for.
it sure beats
or falling off a ladder
while pruning an apple tree
breaking your neck