This is what heartbreak looks like.

It is the soliloquies you wrote to him at midnight while crying

It is the formality a smile and the absence of warmth

It is the nausea and the ***** because this mornings breakfast just didn't have the heart to stay with you

He didn't either

This is what heartbreak sounds like.

Silence
Breaking
Static

This is what heartbreak feels like.

The burn of your concerned friends eyes into your back

The burn of the shame tinging your cheeks red

This is what heartbreak is.

You
Me
But not us

Never us

The winter winds blew in
Carrying salt from the sea
And ice from the north
It whipped and raged
Like a monster thrashing
At his invisible chains

And we brace ourselves
With layers and fire and coal
Dousing the monster
Dampening his roars
With our crackling embers
And hot cocoa hands

But you and I
With your eyes like arctic frost
And mine aglow with summer's
Forest fires and charred woods
We leave behind the warmth
To dance gentle in the chill

From spitting flame to air,
Air that burns like fire in this cold
And still we hear the roaring.
Us two, pale as fresh snow
Soulful as the cinder sun
We distmantle and destroy

Monster! Monster! With eyes,
Eyes like storms and sky
And lungs of triumph and freedom
We three, treading blizzard winds
Spirits dancing gentle, and joy!
Joy boundless, as the winter roars

-
No more resolutions,
Just start taking actions

I'm a sad, sad humanbeing
Wandering in the night
I'm not lost, I'm finding myself
In the forrest, in the wild, all alone
This is where I feel known

A dark mist settled on her lips,
and as soon as she opened her mouth,
the mist morphed into a magical shade of pink;
warmed by her angel-breath,
like falling frost in the eye, it froze her,
and everything around her went still...
She spoke sweet words of sorries and plays,
hoping to born a new day -
with new tales
and new times;
It was only then she realized,
the darkness remained,
no one heard her,
& that all this time,
she only chose to view a different shade,
from behind the curtains of a moth's wing,
posing as a rustic butterfly.
She wouldn't let the words roam now;
she would reel them back in -
like a hurt fish, like a dead wish,
she would tie them up like a bow,
and throw them in the trash,
along with Christmas Eve and the New Year
that she had imagined.
She would leave that photo behind,
and those carved things
that always looked nice on her shelf.
She finally knew
that it was time to go.

It's funny
that inspiration
only knocks on
the doors of your mind
in times of heartache
in times of heartbeats
but never
in times of peace
... and as twisted as it sounds
I like that

I surrendered my senses
to every word
that left your mouth
and landed
on my lips
silencing
all sense
of doubt