Autumn Of A Broken Heart



You spoke like a true gentlemen:
“Hate me for breaking your heart”
Anger held itself stable in my clenched fists.

I've a heart,
I keep on display,
the one with many sutures in it.
I've begun to aclimate to this idea of survival-
woodldand creatures tear into my ribs.
Taking what they must to survive
those trees have more of a right to live than I.
They've been here before, hearing a young girl weep
and a man of his word promise to never come back.

I've eyes,
displayed in a case.
The shade of reality is so bleak,
that I've sewn on my own eyelashes
to fan away any realism.

Imagination is my friend, yet a forlorn enemy
all at once,
the calls end along with the saturation of happiness worn
as a ring around my mouth-
but I taste passion fruit upon my lips.

It began to rot
and so does the flesh of every good man I’d known,
he lays in my arms,
a pile of bones.