the heart wants
what it wants;
i'm definitely not the first to say that,
certainly won't be the last,
but
you stand on the outside of it
for once,
listening in
and
god damn!
it might be true
but
that heart,
he sure is
a hot headed old bastard!
i don't want to think
we mean to hurt each other,
which is often
why
and
how
we manage to
hurt each other,
but standing here
on the other side of the looking glass
for once,
and you can't help but feel
bad
for that poor old brain
whimpering meekly
as that bastard heart
just keeps going.
YOU ARE READING
Melancholia
Poetrypoetry takes us to so many places, and we take poetry to so many places. here are poems about places, and sometimes the people found in them.
