"... is this a broken heart?"
My heart,
I wore it on my sleeve
for anyone to see,
not imagining how it would hurt,
oh how it would hurt.
These tears,
I can't seem to make them stop,
they keep trickling down my face,
their saltiness sharp against my
sore cheeks.
Never could I have thought,
that these would turn out to be
one of those days,
when nothing seemed to go right
and the whole world would be
against you.
The pain is fresh,
as if the wound was wrought
not yesterday,
but this day,
only hours old if even that,
and it throbs,
loose skin flapping and it stings,
and badly so.
These feelings,
these thoughts running through my mind,
they all seem so real,
as if I could reach out with my hand
and touch them,
feel solid objects against my skin.
Is it my imagination,
or is it really happening?
But surely,
heart break shouldn't be this
tangible?
Surely you should be able to
draw a line between this pain
and "real" pain?
Why does it feel as if someone
has struck a knife through my heart,
tearing and pulling,
until only a single thread holds the organ
together?
One thread,
enough to keep me alive,
painfully aware of the throbbing
that seems so real as it dwells within me,
within my chest,
in my heart.
Is this... Is this real?
I wore it on my sleeve
for anyone to see,
not imagining how it would hurt,
oh how it would hurt.
These tears,
I can't seem to make them stop,
they keep trickling down my face,
their saltiness sharp against my
sore cheeks.
Never could I have thought,
that these would turn out to be
one of those days,
when nothing seemed to go right
and the whole world would be
against you.
The pain is fresh,
as if the wound was wrought
not yesterday,
but this day,
only hours old if even that,
and it throbs,
loose skin flapping and it stings,
and badly so.
These feelings,
these thoughts running through my mind,
they all seem so real,
as if I could reach out with my hand
and touch them,
feel solid objects against my skin.
Is it my imagination,
or is it really happening?
But surely,
heart break shouldn't be this
tangible?
Surely you should be able to
draw a line between this pain
and "real" pain?
Why does it feel as if someone
has struck a knife through my heart,
tearing and pulling,
until only a single thread holds the organ
together?
One thread,
enough to keep me alive,
painfully aware of the throbbing
that seems so real as it dwells within me,
within my chest,
in my heart.
Is this... Is this real?
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