A Romance of The Broken
I love you,
Those three words, a massacre did they bring. My heart strung in agony for the world to see. To watch me bleed with boiling agony that not even I could contain. And with no sympathy, you packed your instrument of love, never to play by my side again.
I became an abandoned piano in the dust of your empty heart. And your lips turned sour with the mere thought of my yearning for your soul. A distant hand did you become as you vanished the recesses of my mind. Still, I gave you a place in my heart, though yours was a chamber of murder for mine.
I could not leave what I prayed would spark a new. That in the hour of midnight you would call to me. Not for the longing of an ear. But for the blooming desire of love, for something beyond what had been planted.
But with each passing night, I became but a mere poet of lonely stanzas. Not even the rays of the sun brought me hope. I grew dreary in the confines of my place of design. Reaching deep into the ponds of misery, only to find you with each reeling of every word.
You stained the very pages of my eyes and I prayed for you to leave. But you would not, you stored yourself into my ink. And with every word I spilled, I could taste you, see you, hear you. And tears found no escape for you, I feel you deserve no tears of mine.
And I bring no resentment of your existence and your perpetual need to find my dreams. But I no longer hold a candle beneath the tunnel of your heart. In hopes the light will guide you, for too many times did we converse from either end. Only to say good bye once again, only to watch the wax coat my hand in heat. And like a fool, to the addiction of drugs, I clung to the suffering, as if it were breath.
Torn did I become. This feeble, maddened poet of love. Now drooling to the sight of lust, longing for even a morsel of affection. But I have shattered my will to present confidence in the discussion of love. To find one whom prays for a heart to dance with them.
All that remains is a desolate skeleton of a desperate man willing to give himself up. And as I wither to the candle light, to the empty sorrows of your tunnel. I pray, that what I did not have, you find. That I too, may someday find one to hold me as I wish to be held. To find an instrument to accompany my song. I am a mere poet, passing his time in the passion of words.
Who shall catch them, and delight in them with me?
Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it, what was your favorite part?
There is much to be expressed in words, if you found this even the least bit enjoyable. Then you will find this to be the perfect book, A Man's Traveled Heart
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