Drown This Heart
Drown this heart! I scream as I plunge it beneath the depth of the ocean. Drown it till it can beat no more! It has no place here. For I am empty of any love, my senses are absent. As absent as breath is to death.
Let a corpse be my existence for the twinge of life I have allowed it to cripple me. But I have given no cane to my soul and no hope to my mind. Let the water suffocate what is left, what shall save me? Nothing, for I have swept myself clean of any desire to stand beneath the stars nor the moon.
Let me vanish from the sunsets. Let me be a shadow of every night and the shade of every morning. For this heart is miserable. It drips of tar, a blackness gripped in the bowels of misery. I bear only contempt for my actions, myself.
I have allowed fear to be my guide and have watched love fade because of it. So close I have been, so close to the warmth of love but, I am dirt flung upon any flame. And so be it, the silence of my heart. For I feel it to be better to never feel than be tormented by memories bliss.
The awful reel of what is no more. Like an amputee reliving memories before the pieces of them were stolen. I am cold, bitter as the ice in the Arctic and as alone as a canine stripped from his master. And so I am lost, wandering the paved streets with no direction.
Fearful of the slightest hand that reaches, scurrying to the nearest alley. Rotting, frothing with echoes as if bitten by the past.
So allow me to drown this heart and let it be nothing but an organ, a pulsating heap of tissue. Separate me from emotion and let the primal be all that is left. Instinct shall keep alive but drag me not through the damages of living.
Holding my heart, I feel it struggling, fighting, but I fight back. Like a rat shoved in a bag it wishes to escape. But it bares no teeth for such an attempt. It is dying, I can feel it, I can feel the rhythm slow. I can feel myself falling to the silence.
The Tundra of suffering, but where there is no sparks to ignite and so there is no hearts to burn. But my hands are growing weak and my body is becoming tired. Why does it resist, why does this heart wish to live? Does it not remember all the misery, the miserable, the tarnished soul that it is?
My hands are wrinkling to the moisture of the ocean and my grip is becoming as useful as shoes without laces. My fingers, I can feel them tingle to the cold, the numbness. Am I still holding it? I think as I cannot see it through the murky waters. Nor can I feel it. Have I lost it, but I do not feel freed, I do not feel as if I am void of it feelings, its desire for love.
Where is the silence, the ever reverberating feel of an empty chest? My hands, still beneath the water I slowly raise them and as I do, there is nothing between them but sand; Gritty, wasteful, and grimy sand! Where is my heart, where did it go? Has it drowned? Did it free itself unbeknownst to me?
I begin to panic and in my madness I strip myself of my clothes till I am nude, vulnerable to all. The moon is brightly lit, my pale skin looms from its gaze. I am shivering from the cold, but I do not see my heart. I do not see it beating in my chest. There is no beat, no rhythm I feel beneath by ribs.
I smile with slight relief, but as I do I am taken by a wave. And like a fish taken from water I flounder about with craze. With the frightful want to survive, to live. But there is no hope for me for I cannot swim and I have lost sight of the shore.
In my struggle to seek air I see my heart floating motionless near me. I frantically reach for it, hoping for its help but it gives me no response as it floats by. Its tissue as pale as mine as a crimson cloud pours from it.
I feel my lungs fill with the uncomfortable taste of salt. The world is dimming now and there is nothing for me to do. I so eagerly wanted death upon my heart and lose myself to the existence of feeling. And now, I have lost myself completely.
The moon beams upon the now calm shore and in its glowing grasp shines upon something no bigger than a human heart. And in the shadows walks a mother and child, adoring the cool night.
"Mommy mommy, look, what is that?" The child points to the shining object. The mother leans over to inspect. "Oh! My dear! That is a heart, poor fellow who ever lost that. Another taken by the false hope to escape I am sure."
The child looks at the heart and up at his mother, "what do you mean mother?"
The mother, looking to her child then at the heart, "When you get older son, you will learn that life is a constant battle to even breathe. And either you live it or, it lives you."
Anyone understand this or just me?
There is trouble every where you go, but how you deal with it tells a lot about you,
Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words
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