Of all things sentimental.
She came through the door wearing a suit of armor.
The door closed behind her with a rattle and tick of swaying arms.
With rust around her eyes she longed to be melted down.
A drop left in her can of oil.
The metal on her chest plate dull, full of dents.
She explained that her heart stopped working.
That the gears and springs just won't turn.
With a screwdriver jammed in the middle and a bolt or two missing.
I heard the man behind the counter say that he could repair it but she too insisted in a louder voice.
Its not worth the trouble, that she'd rather be melted down.
Too much time has passed, she wants to finally feel the warmth of something genuine.
I watched her as she walked into the welder's shop.
Some people laughed. Others wore a look of wrinkled eyebrows.
Revealing their defect. Noses turnt sharp in the air.
Beauty comes in all shapes and form.
A beautiful shape molded into tin to protect how precious she was.
Dings and dents from the rocks they'd throw.
The world is a cruel place.
Her operator forgetting her name, A reflection of alzheimer's not done intentionally.
The damage of watching everything around you slowly change.
The insecurities of home no longer being home.
She pierced a hole over her heart with a screwdriver.
Jamming the gears. Causing nuts bolts and springs to bounce everywhere in a buildup of steam.
Rust composites in the duct of her eyes.
I watched her walk through the door.
Making brief eye contact before walking through the door myself.
When I walked in there was no sign of her.
Just the man behind the counter setting out a new watch stained in rust

Hearts don’t break unless you let them; They often break because of love
Love is a sweet and sour tonic; a potion of notions you’ve never dreamed of.
Hearts are strong yet also fragile, by way of fortune or bad luck
So if you never give your heart away, you’ll never have to pick the pieces up

Hearts come in all shapes and sizes; some are false and some are true
And you can never be so certain if the same heart you know is the same heart you knew
Some hearts are kind and always giving; some hearts are shy and beat at their own pace
Some hearts are forever always living to put a smile on another’s face

Some hearts are trying their best to make it; some hearts are liars and some are dead
Some are forlorn and look quite hungry; the soul inside remains unfed.
Yes, often hearts can be quite messy, but if you’ve never picked the pieces up
Then you’ve likely never given your heart away; you’ve likely never let it love.

I find humor laughing at how far we've come.
The differences seen out right between you and I.
Creating the shortcut separating us both.
Risking more distance. Taking that one proverbial step.
I laugh because of absolute generosity.
Placing different pieces of myself in you.
An extreme amount of disposition, watching our shadow take the step of paused feet.
Considering the first step, moving closer to you.
Doing the utmost in sincerity. Discovering that through true expression
you are me and I am you.
The parts of ourself that we keep hidden.
Still troubled.
Finding new ways to be completely honest.
Why not laugh, sharing whats felt on the inside.
Choosing instead the shortcut that sits right in front of us.
Short conversation that deny us both of how we truly feel.
A motivation found in the utmost of sincerity.
No longer pretending. Putting on a front that we see each other for who we truly are.
We see it clear as day but it's funny because we choose to ignore it.
Choosing instead to see what we choose.
Choosing instead to dwell in the past, finding reason to take a step back.
Letting our shadow dissipate.
Taking hold of how we truly feel.
Putting that selfish part of ourselves first.
A lack of communication no longer sincere in motion.
Not realizing that we're back to where we started

In contemporary belief.
A archer went to a shaman for relief.
A answer to ease fear of thoughts.
Finding his way home, the trail of war became too much.
He struggled with the regret of building a life away from what he knew.
When he came to the shaman.
The shaman hung his head low.
Smelling the stinch of blood.
Still he could not turn his back to the archer.
When posed with the young archers question.
He sat puzzled. Summering the long winded statement to "a great change must be made. Else all will fade."
Knowing of the young archers longing for a maiden.
The archer looked puzzled.
Yet the shaman spoke nothing else.

The young archer was called upon.
A war broke on the opposing side.
They needed his skill in fear that survival was utmost.
Without time to think the archer grabbed his bow. His arrows and darted quickly in the direction the war has taken place.
He quickly coiled arrow to bow. In repeated motion until none were left.
A field of arrows covered the small space.
War does something to a man.
A brief clarity after the slaughter of contemplation.
The shamans words dawned upon him like a snake.
He darted to the shamans place in great discoverly.
Finding that the shaman as well as his possessions were completely gone without trace.
He darted back to the field.
Searching through a forrest of arrow.
A heart wrenching feeling stuck on his face.
Guiding his way through the arrows he found a familar hand. Connected to a familar torso.
A face stuck in agonizing eternity.
The shamans words made more sense.
Backing away from the body.
Thinking deeply. Damning his hands.
The thing that came as habit.
He broke his bow in the reflection of his maiden's eyes.
This war gone astray inside of him

In the form of love she held me close.
Shaping the pieces of her heart into pills.
Without the proper prescription she advised that I take one once a day.
How foolish of me to exceed the dosage.
Unable to differentiate what was real.
Small sips of water, dilated pupils.
The mood swings felt between night and day.
The chemicals of her heart seen loud and clear.
Withdrawing myself from what I pictured the perfect love.
Moving from twice a day to as many as was needed.
Falling fast asleep. Waking up with sharp pains.
This was how fast my heart began to beat.
Swallowing each pill to ease the pain. Having gone so long without such embrace. 
I medicated myself in the hopes of staying alive.
A mass communion of pills gathered in the palm of my hand.
Easing her body into my mouth.
Swallowing her heart in an entirety of fragments.
This was how I came to overdose in a fantasy that wasn't meant for me

I got on my knees, hoping that you would appear
I waited until the morning, keeping my eyes closed in solemn prayer.
Hoping to see you when I opened my eyes.
I was curious when you would appear, keeping my eyes closed.
Continuing to wait, my knees became sore.
Still I knelt on my knees knowing pain.
Would your love ever take over.
Continuing to wait I opened my eyes at the crack of dawn.
Rising from my knees when I saw nothing but disappointment.

Somethings are easier to explain than most.
But what gets me is that everyone fails to mention what happens to the moth after the flame is extinguished.
The sorrow that escapes through the air as black smoke.
The burning smell of a wick sweltering in the remains of liquid wax.
Soon to harden as if nothing has happened.
And the moth, forever left with it's essence
Soon left alone, blinded.
Not knowing which way to go

Far too long have I labored under the cruel slavemaster of my emotions
Whipped I am by my love for you
Desperately I have tried to escape from this slavery
But crippled am I by infatuation
Here I'll stay in this cruel cruel place
Until love turns to hate
Only then will I be free

There loomed a certain belief,
One that exhaled soon as she passed.
A sudden urge that fizzed over soon as the bottle opened.
Now granted you can still drink a soda once it's shaken
Most would replace desire for that of another, the discord
Of being splashed in the face by the very desire one in the same.
Drops of truth splashed everywhere seen as backlash, a sort of wrath
Spoken but never heard.
There was something about the contour of the bottle,
Fixed thoughts filled in ovulation.
Everything kept inside.
A certain vengeance that loomed in bliss.
If not handled carefully doom was immanent.
Each time she walked passed he'd shake the bottle more vigorously.
A cold fizz that quenches every desire steadfast with reality.
Curious he looked at the bottle, wanting to quench this need
He placed his hands on the top slowly unscrewing.
Her eyes connected with his, everything paused.
For the first time in a long time everything was beautiful
Sharing a brief look relaxing his shoulders.
He untwisted the top, for a moment she sighed
Feeling a release she hasn't felt in a long time.
His hand smooth against the contour of the bottle
He placed his lips against the bottle easing her to quench this thirst he's waited so long for.
This urge that dried the well of his throat.
She refused him the pleasure of her, keeping her fizz to herself.
Now he knows what it's like to be on the outside looking in

I wish that wasn't me.

I look at the bodies of my beloved and my son and wish that wasn't me.
I look at the ****** knife in my hand and horrible wounds on their bodies and wish that wasn't me.

I remember coming home drunk.
I remember her being angry at me.
I remember my head aching.
I remember her yelling at me.
I remember shouting at her to shut up.

I understand making a mistake of taking the knife and screaming at her.
I understand making a mistake of stabbing her again and again, crying at her to be silent.

I regret looking up and noticing my son weeping at the door.
I regret screaming at him to be silent as well.

I stare at my hands and the ****** knife.
I stare at the corpses of my dearest queen and my heir.

I wish that was me.