I've had a broken heart before.
It's a part of all of us.
We mend one with needle and thread
and leave it at that.
Our lives continue with cross stitched
makeshift
battle scarred tissue
and we forget.
Our minds shoot us up with dopamine
the farther along the chronology we go.
But you see,
here's my issue
I only have so much emotional currency
and stitches are expensive.
Now I've lost a limb
and my bank account has run dry.
If I want to survive this
I need to give up my house
my hopes.
My...
Everything.
I'm swimming through the lake of fire
which came pouring down my cheeks.
I'm...
struggling to keep my head above the flames.
My body has become ash,
shivering in the grasp of icy night tentacles
jour par jour.
My hands are like claw machines
always close to that stuffed reward
but never really picking anything up.
The doctor tells me there is nothing wrong with me
because I'm articulate.
I'm not worried about the condition of my tongue
Only the crack in my chest she missed in her interview x-rays
and the bullet hole in the part of my brain labeled self esteem.
Professionals cannot diagnose me
if they don't know the root of my illness.
I lay on the surgeon's table.
I don't get drugs because I'm not supposed to feel the pain.
Doctor cuts into my conscious body.
Open heart surgery.
But you see,
I lied.
Yes the countless failed relationships have hurt
but the pain comes from the black hole.
Gravity makes me collapse
but doesn't let me fall.
Instead I'm left holding the weight of my failures on my shoulders
because the cavity of my soul
is only a crater.