A Distant Heart
I do not know the callings of connection. Linking one heart to the next, only bruises. I know not the beauty that strings from the correlation of common affection; blood or not. I am strangely distant in my taking of such things.
Arms length is my comfort, it is the distance I allow my heart. Even then, I am cautious to contemplate the display of it. Even in the ideal of family I pose a gap between each member. Most would seem that I am reposed in my position of such a thing.
Friends, and dare I say family; see me as welcoming and open. But I steer between the fine lines of loving and caring. I skate the outer lines of it all, keeping my hands to my back and heart to my chest. No need, nor the want of my pulse to pump from sleeve.
For there, any can see its pattern and carefully concoct a scheme to poison. To place me beneath a spell and travel with little discretion. I fear I was born with an unpleasant amount of empathy, even my enemy I care deeply for.
Why? This I cannot answer. I wish them no reason to be my enemy, nor do I wish to bring them to deaths door. But take not my kindness for the tears of weakness, for even an angel carries a blade. They may be tender of the heart, but are trained keenly in the ways of violence.
I guess, I am but alleviated of anger or resentment. For I have seen it drive others mad, as well as my own bones. Twisting the pleasure of life and tearing them from the ribs. Leaving breath in the hands of shadows. Thoughts in the teeth of the damned, crying out with fiendish howls for another to weep along side.
Picking the remains of life and spiting them to the far reaches of hell.
I have been broken by others, and by the hand of my own heart. I have placed my heart in the grips of a noose and strangled its every ounce of blood; for the comforting of another. Yet, I still feel for them, I have been tormented by strangers and "friends." Yet, I still care for them and wish them no atrocities.
I fear, I am but a shattered heart carried by the overly gracious hand of empathy. In such an unfortunate living, I find myself pleading for the healing of others; but not of my own spirit.
Thank you for reading!
Maybe some of you can relate to these words. You wish to be close but too much pain has stricken you, you wish to feel animosity toward those who have harmed you and others around you. But something keeps you from both.
What do you think of it all?
More such thoughts can be read in, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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