“The Kiss, The Kill”

It is uninspired enough to speak,

The heart.

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With every tiresome beat it breathes

A whim escapes and breaks,

Breaking for no one’s benefit.

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Feeling and emotion are tossed like sheer nothings

To fall desolate in its valley of piercing reason.

The blood it sees, though not its own

Seeps and trickles in as artificial happiness.

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And as it dreams a resonating nightmare

It remembers the name of every star it wished on

And every being it longed for.

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But once this is so

The synthetic joy bears its timely holes

Leaving the heart guilt-ridden,

Able to function again.