You call her heartless because you cannot see any love in her eyes
Do you not notice the blood on her shirt?
Do not acknowledge the hole in her chest?
Do not see the empty void that begs to be filled?
She used to have a heart. It would beat louder than any earthly noise. It would love so fiercely it rivaled the burning stars. It swelled up so large it didn't fit behind a cage of bones. It had countless infinities within it, some not so easily quelled.
That heart would've crushed her from the inside.
So she gave it away, ripped it right out of her own chest. She poured and poured love into everything she did. It was tragic and magnificent, the passion she gave that crept into everything little thing she touched. She started a garden, with the roses that sprung up wherever she'd sow them.
You call her heartless, are you blind?
She always had a heart, grandest one of all. But oh, there was not another that could match it's fiery zeal. So with every little piece she relinquished, the love would never be given back.
The garden she scattered among the world wilted, the stars that ran in so deep in her veins dimmed, her ardor for life itself slowly faded until their was nothing but a vacant place where her heart used to be.
And you ask her why she seems so numb and empty to the world? Because darling, the world could never give back the love she sacrificed.
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Symptoms of Starlight | Poetry
Poetry"you've been brushed by the need for something greater, your head waits for a crown." In which a girl writes down everything from 2 am thoughts to afternoon drabbles to empowering poems in hopes it all means something.
