My heart burns away until it's numb,
A rotting corpse of black,
As small as a fingernail,
Kneel over your soul.
Knees in the snow,
Biting and bloodying my skin,
A small wisp floats away.
From my heart cold and jaded.
A small wisp of my whole soul.
All that remained good.
The hole in my chest bleeds,
Onto the snow with greed,
But it isn't red as a slaughtering,
It's black as a murder in cold blood.
Cold blood = cold hearted?
Does my dying heart,
Pulse with evil intentions,
As long as it lives, do I stay connected?
Will I? Won't I?
I can't but I must,
Kill the heart before it kills my trust?
Before it murders my kindness?
My humanity? My conscience?
I squish my small black heart,
A pain brighter than a thousand suns burn.
But those suns will not live, and neither will I.
Not with this heart.
YOU ARE READING
Wonderland (a winter poetry collection)
PoetryA poetry collection combining the solitude and grief of winter along with the comforting and emotional half.
