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When the Heart Breaks
My heart broke, shattered like glass,
reflective of what we always knew.
The lie, not born in nature,
but sprung up over ashes, and years,
and fragmented bones.
The story of us, posturing these last few years; blown.
The pieces lay sanctimoniously everywhere.
A silent prayer from my lips, cast like a fisherman’s net, collecting nothing.
Crimson spills from my splintered fingers.
Broken open, raw
from love, contempt,
from the unacquainted, and all too familiar.
In earnest, scrambling to put the glass back together again.
But there is no together. The blast took us both out the picture.
And if you listen closely, you can hear the echo of
Words crest like a shell at my lips,
A violent storm in our now shattered glass menagerie
And I am left standing in the heaps of our rubble.
When the heart breaks you can hear it’s infernal sound waves for miles.
When the heart breaks you’d swear it was you.
You count all the memories on your fingers
Rubbed numb and bald from lighting yourself on fire.
When a flip switches, you hardly recognize that part or yourself.
The skin grows back.
Each breath deeper than the one before.
The amnesia of who you are takes its leave like storms always do.
When the heart breaks you return home.