How am I suppose to read the warning signs
when I am emotionally illiterate
what I'm trying to say is
that I have never learned
how to deal well with heartache  

I know how it feels to have a weightless heart
when ever thing is measured by gold
my ribcage has a collection of nothing
but rusted pennies
sitting at the end of a bottomless dread

wishes that come true
sometimes have a way
of exploding like a dandelion

days of good intentions
can tumble unexpectedly
no matter how well
they are stacked together

the future is never certain
everything has an expiration date
wether it is printed in black ink
or a secret only the wind
and the leaves know  
it could be something as warm as death
or as cold as betrayal
or something far simpler
than we make it out to be

our own stupidity comes to mind
our careless behavior motivated by ego
and the ego does as much damage
when under inflated
as it does when it burst from its own pride

months and years of silence and solitude
has turned loneliness
into a comfortable home
a safe haven
free from the fear of things going wrong
a place I have no need to regret
the things never said
the people I never said those things to

and somewhere between memory and fantasy
things that once may have been
and things that never were
there is a strange place
that feels happy enough
what is love other than a feeling
a feeling of comfort
of warmth
of dreams
what makes it more or less real
if the heart is fooled
why not play the fool

something real imagined
imagining something real
if I whisper a name
I do not know in my sleep
or dream of kissing a name
I fear to speak
what would be the difference
when I wake in an empty bed
surround by the cool comfort of silence
if the feeling remains the same

maybe if I had read the warning sign
I would have known that
I don’t deal well with heartache