After you left

Hearts don’t break,
To have the pieces,
Melt like ice,
In summer.
Instead it is,
The choosing to take,
Another’s heart,
To take it in your hands,
And tear it up.
To choose to walk away,
Leaving the bleeding pulp,
Yet living.
The feathered fibers,
Nerve endings,
Twitching and stinging,
At the slightest breath,
Of kindness.
Pulsing the bleeding mass,
Will heal,
But in the healing,
Scar upon scar is formed,
Until the whole that was,
Is transformed.
Poisoned by the pus,
Of sleepless nights,
What it did wrong.
And when at last,
The scabs fall off,
What will remain?
Will the heart,
Be tender still?
Or will it turn,
To teak,
To never beat again?
After you walked away,
I had to keep,
On living.



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