Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Putting away the dead thing

It feels so unnatural
to go against my heart...
when it beats with such dread


within my chest

and it screams out your name
in strange dreams.

It claws and it tears
trying desperately to break free
from the prison-

how can such cold things


bars of ribs that encase it-

no eyes peer out those windows

I am really not confused
by the hollow beatings
of my heart.

nor the persistence of it's stares

I understand its language
but I plug my ears.

yearning yearning...
fists are turning
digging into skin
thats burning

I cannot hear the pleading and begging.

It will do no good to try and reason with it.

beating my chest till it's raw

So I think that it is dying
just starving to death
and I have refused to feed it.

neglect in the highest form

But importance must come, in
 knowing its place.

It seems it is better off dead
than free.

And so I pack it away
in a little bone box
surrounded by sucking life
of defeat.

I soon forget
that it is there at all.

With luck, I will have no memory
of its existence.

what did you say...

bout love?

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