Left Logic

Tortured Artist in Engineering

I am a bleeding heart

Spilling onto concrete crops

I spill I don't stain I don't drain

I die and dry and remain on top

I rot

Until i am pressure washed off

And the concrete is not different but indifferent. Renewed by not new

My pain has no impact no purpose

I cannot use it abuse it

Wield it into a cruel tool

A scythe to cut grass

No. in my field of concrete it is useless

It is nothing. A dull knife unable to scratch.

And I am jealous.

You can wield your pain into work

Give it purpose (give purpose to your hurt)

How I wish I could bleed onto grass

Give it my flesh, give it growth

To lie and die atop something that caresses and consumes

But

I am a bleeding heart

In a field without trauma porn

A martyr without purpose

Is no longer a martyr

It is just a dead body atop concrete