I am often afraid of the way my heart dismantles empty war zones.
The way it forms artilleries, lines up its soldiers
And decides to plan attacks on everything it falls in love with.
The way it breeches the soil below it,
Holds dear to it the sergeants of loss,
Creates dissembling amongst individual cavalry's
And plants land mines in itself that only my thoughts can ever walk over.
The way it's destined to stop beating, and still transmits a blood
That I already wish was killing me slowly. The way all the arteries around of it
Never cease to stop the crave to ascend away from it. The way they
Pull and pull, as their tugging increases the heaviness of every external
Touch. The way the memory of intimacy cascades in its battlefield, and
Is only implemented when love is destroyed in its clarity. The way the solidity
Of 'happiness' is created by its blindness and movements. The way a hand
Could reach upon it and violently caress it's edges without allowing
It's substance to feel a thing. The way an empty transgression could induce
Hell-fire in its perceived paradise and still allow it to exist in the flames. The way
Hundreds upon thousands of men could lie with it in a pit of oblivion,
And still be cautious of the way it still beats even after it's life is over.

It is petrifying to think that my heart is an atomic bomb set to
Possibly detonate over and over again
And, I am often afraid that it never will...
It may one day surrender,
...
But I am often afraid, that it never will.