It’s not figurative, a Broken Heart.
The searing pain in your chest
As tendons  stretch, then rip apart.
So what if it’s for the best?
That doesn’t make the hurt ease.
I don’t bother to pretend, to lie.
Don’t care if everyone can see.
They judge me because I cry,
But they cannot feel this agony.
They cannot begin to conceive
Half the despair that I contain
They will never truly believe
The darkness my soul will entertain
They, who will never understand
For their heart is strong and sure
Where mine is a wasteland
Shattered into a thousand or more.