is hidden in the lungs of a lover
who lost himself                          
in the war of keeping his love;  
in  his tears yet to stream his cheeks,  
over the carcass of the only dead soldier  
that is his own heart.                                    

And the coldest, most macabre ******
lies between the partition of the lips    
of the one who left-- willingly.    
No good-byes.                                
No apologies.          
Just plain frigid fingers          
that smell like heartbreak.        

This is the epic unwritten in history,
unseen in televised documentaries;
partly because of its gruesome morbidity,  
and partly of its awful simplicity.                
A traceless killing:                                          
no blood,                            
no stains,                            
no weapons,                      
just lies.                              
Seamless all from the start--                        
just one mangled heart.