There is a big difference,
the way,
my heart was broken,
to the way,
a heart would usually break.
This is not a crack,
or your average fissured.
An explanation,
of how did this start,
would be in demand,
if ever eyes,
lay upon,
my awful looking heart.
It has a devastation to live with,
my heart is split,
with countless amount of openings,
that I feel,
every single day,
when I first open my eyes,
every single night,
before the last shut,
of my eyes.
The person responsible,
cleaved it,
with all her rights.
My heart is beating,
only because of the Lords grace,
among me.
Among the many,
shattered parts of my heart,
lies a big,
sharp piece,
This piece has a certain name on it,
It's the piece the doctor says,
is irreplaceable,
Untouchable,
and will eventually,
**** me.
The doctor told me,
only once,
everyday when I wake up,
To remember,
that the piece,
is half an inch,
deeper,
than it was yesterday.
Inside,
my poor little heart,
the tiny,
edgy bits,
of my demolished heart,
cover the space,
surgeons need,
to remove,
the big sharp piece.
My heart,
is not a heart anymore,
but a beating muscle,
that looks like,
a dried up anthurium,
ready to fall.
It has the bottom opening,
of an old fashioned bleeding heart,
but no color.
The heart,
I carry with me,
is very weak,
and unstable,
like water.
It has a day,
where it try's,
it's very best,
to pace the torture,
I put it through,
but,
the majority of days,
it cannot bare
and stops,
to scare me.
®*K.S