That was the day
The faraway earthquake could be felt
The birds in the sky
Flew in criss-crossed directions
All the beauty of the world
Was shown in a bright naked light
And under closer examination
Became not beautiful anymore

That was the day
I broke both my hands
I strained my voice
Shouting the most horrible truths
All the beauty of a life
Was shown to be an awful lie
And I haven't played a melodic note since
I don't feel like making music

The hand that signed the paper felled a city;
Five sovereign fingers taxed the breath,
Doubled the globe of dead and halved a country;
These five kings did a king to death.

The mighty hand leads to a sloping shoulder,
The finger joints are cramped with chalk;
A goose's quill has put an end to ******
That put an end to talk.

The hand that signed the treaty bred a fever,
And famine grew, and locusts came;
Great is the hand the holds dominion over
Man by a scribbled name.

The five kings count the dead but do not soften
The crusted wound nor pat the brow;
A hand rules pity as a hand rules heaven;
Hands have no tears to flow.

This love began to dim,
Due to the quiver of your chin.

The desire to fulfill,
No longer brings me thrill.

Your hopes and all your dreams,
Instilled inside of me.

Our love could not commit,
We fell into derailment.

Longing glances turned to disapproving sighs.
Dishonesty shining through your weak despondent eyes.

Our legs intertwine,
Fear pulsing at the base of my spine.
  
To stay with you,
There’s no escape.

From what you think,
And what you take.

This love caught fire,
I burned you down.

Dying to be touched,
Craving to be found.

I didn’t ask for this.
I didn’t ask for you.

This love once so good,
Became untrue.

I used to think that the penalty
for devastating loss
was a metaphorical
            hole
                   in your
heart.

And though that
            hole
                  made you
broken,
something would come along
to fill that
            hole.

All things broken
could be made new again.

I know now,
that is not true.
A
            hole
                   in your
heart,
cannot be filled.

When you lose a piece
of yourself,
that piece is gone.
Forever.

And no amount of love,
or support,
can restore you
to shiny, new condition.

But
that is not to say
that the broken
cannot be healed.

For though a heart
can never be made
             whole
again,

It can be made larger.

You can never replace
the missing pieces,
But you can always
collect more.

And though more surface area
leaves more opportunity for
              holes,
It also changes the size
of the existing ones
relative to what's left.

You will never not miss
what you have
lost.

You will never not feel
burdened by your
brokenness.

But it will get easier.

I was building walls through the middle of the sahara using only cardboard, scotch tape, and bulldozers, when I got bored and decided my time was better spent looking up flowers on the internet that I would never see firsthand

I realized then how I wanted to be someone to follow so I bought an ant farm at Miller's Corner Store, and set them free but not without first covering my whole body in honey and letting it seep through my skin to sweeten my heart

I put the queen in my left shirt pocket

You stole my heart and listed it as sold
You pointed to it and said 'this I will hold'
You said ' I will warm it up when cold'
You said ' I will watch it grow old'
You will grow old with it, I was told
I smiled a smile that was uncontrolled
But like a poker hand, you threw it away and said 'I fold'