I’m no engineer, not a mechanic, not even a technician,
How do I mend these broken pieces?
There’s no ******* program to re-run this malfunctioning heart
That I can’t even shape and mold back
There is no elixir, no spell, no band aid, no shortcut, no hint, no time span,
To tell when this pain will go away, it stays every day, reminding me that I’m alive,
Bending, writhing as I try to take it away myself, if only I knew love would be this painful,
I could have decided never to have loved anyone as much as I could because there’s nothing left of me
That I can hold on to,
These ruins I call a heart
No architect could even muster, one an artist could never admire,
But one only a writer could appreciate and write about,
There is no escape from this breaking reality,
It’s been so dark, and the only light I’ve seen has perished with the soul that was once brought to life,
What more is there that I can grasp that could fill the voids of this vacuum I call a heart?
My fingers try to run through and feel in this decaying, eroding temple,
Where these thoughts on paper find home,
A sanctuary of a train of thoughts that never stop for a soul,
These feet can’t support all the agony, unlike my shoulders that carry the weight of the universe on each,
Yet this intellect I have, only could explain these ink jots on paper,
Words I could never speak, only numbing my mouth, I silently utter,
Finger tips reach out to thy but there’s no saving me,
Of what sight you can see is all that remains of me,
The insides of this wall of flesh is dead, I’ve been trapped in this bed
