lost (he)art

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
What do you think this means?

Submitted: June 21, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 21, 2013

A A A

A A A


you had artist hands,
thin, long, slender
and i remember how they
gently hovered over the silver silk
threaded on my canvas thighs-
patched problems like
disjointed roads that seamed
endless, but somehow
headed to a place i held as home

(i could hardly look at you,
glancing up with uneasy eyes-
but you stared at me as you
brushed my skin softly-
making [me] believe that some where
deeper than cocooned wounds
stirred a greatness,
more than fragility)

but you lacked the lover’s heart and were
apathetic, indifferent, and dismissive
you left before you ever arrived
i remember how i searched and searched for
that faith, but that flitter of hope was fleeting
all i could find were the clotted vessels
swelling with pain[t] from the picture you tried to form
with crushed wing and antennae
i felt the butterflies crumble that once
creeped and crawled in the crux of my belly

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you are the worst form of self-mutilaton i could ever have


(done)
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