You keep breaking my heart into an infinite amount of pieces, but I keep picking up the pieces and placing them back in your hands.

Break my heart, make me believes it's out of love.

The torture chamber painted
thick with red, white and black
fully contains artifacts different
unimaginable kind each one is.

Pain indeed was the tap root
from which art sprouts, says the poet
all the secrets of the heart, hidden deep
for which a heavy price is paid
throughout life, sing and dance
spin a fine yarn, tell an unforgettable tale

Are you sorry about yesterday?
Did you note the damage you inflicted
on an already broken being, a girl,
fighting to keep her tears at bay?

Are you sorry about tomorrow?
Will you regret the stupid decisions,
the way you choose to spend your life,
or your actions that will lead to sorrow?

People say the past is the past,
to stop obsessing over every little thing.
I try to tell my mind to stay out of tomorrow
but it wanders and the unknown is vast.

I’m sorry about yesterday,
and all the horrible things I did.
I’m sorry about tomorrow,
and for all the terrible things I’ll say.

I walk with weary eyes
Tired of seeing, no longer willing to hear
My head spins from the smoke of your conflagration
Burn me down from the inside out
Lungs of ice trap the filth
Make sure the essence becomes my own
I try to scream but cough out words of rancour
A whirlwind of smoke and embers
My ashes block the sun
Nothing can grow here

I can feel you,
radiating unto me.

Love and pain,
we go unseen.

You're my plutonium,
my queen.

I'm nothing,
a dying ****,
maybe.

Pull me up,
roots and all please.

In the hole,
plant a seed.

Watch it grow,
watch it bleed.

Heal its wounds,
make it believe,
then toss it aside,
when it becomes a ****,
like me.