My Execution of Love

  
My Execution of Love

Do as you wish, this heart is a traveler of darkness. Scars have found home upon my heart like termites to rotting foundation. Day by day my heart slowly crumbles, it is nothing without you. Without us.

  I am catatonic to love. Frozen in the position of melancholy. A possession of dark clouds have gathered in my mind. I wear a cloak of obsession, an obsession to drown this catastrophic wound.

  My floors are covered in lust as I pounce from lips to lips. Seducing the hearts as bleak as mine. But no matter the sedation, I can hear you, feel you. My eyes are green, envious of your ease to cope; to find another.

  I have shriveled to bone, to dust. Place me in your hand and I will be blown to the faintest wind. Wild images of darkness shade my thoughts. But if I had the chance to tell you of these, would you even care or would do as you did when you left?

  Walking in blankness as if nothing had meaning. It hurt, our separation, you pulled pain from my heart like the plucking of hair from my scalp. Plucking and plucking, removing yourself till I bled. Till I was moist in my tears and a coward of love.

  How crude can one be? The moon has even ignored my pleads to smile. I sit cold, frozen to wicked lakes of misery. No ability to stand, falling in any attempt. Hell has never been beneath my feet, but at my heart and at my eyes.

  It walked beside me with its olive complexion. Its eyes of bronze and lips of peach; a lie, you were. A promise shoved in the skin of deception. I hung you from my chest like a necklace and I wore you with pride, with gratitude.

  I had come to believe you gave me so much. But your greed to your own self had led you to drain me of myself. Used like a slave to chains, following command with blindness only to skirt from pain.

  I write this beneath the hollow trees that have rotted behind my house. Just as this heart has done. A desolate organ with no sound. Alone in the grey sky as rain falls, I am suffering in our memories.

I wonder, do you ever allow me to pass through your mind as I do?

  Or have I become no more than a passing waste of time? A sheet a paper scribbled with sketches to pass the hours.

Tell me darling, why, why string me up in execution and speak as if you are not guilty too?
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This just popped from my head, I am not sure why or what it is about. But there must something in these words that has a meaning or the mere purpose to relieve a momentary lapse of sorrow. 

What do you think?

Capture my words in your hands, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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