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A Reflection of Heartache

Written Nov. 2012

At this point, we both know it’s over. Your room knows we’re over. Your chest of drawers know. Your walls hanging with pictures of us know. Your sheets suck in the scent of me, only to torture you while you sleep. As you lie there, your mind will unknowingly recognize my scent. And as you reach for me, you’ll awaken alone and cold. But for now, we’ll lay here and think of the emptiness that is to come.

It’s quiet now. You’ve just told me we won’t last. You lay your head on my chest. “I wonder if she can hear my heart breaking?” I imagine my heart as shifting tectonic plates. As my brain scrambles to recognize this feeling, it exclaims “Ah, heartache. We meet again.” My brain relays messages to my liver, kidney, colon, muscles, nervous system, and lungs of the coming storm. They then ready for the great purge of sorrow to come.

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On Melancholia

‘Tiss a strange thing, is it not?

Being drawn into despair.

The timely sensation comes when one is most alone.

It is there to remind you of your vulnerabilities, weaknesses, mortality.

Yet it is the very thing that makes us fearless.

The emptiness, like the churning stomach in need of substance.

The resentment, a mocking voice within holds you prisoner.

A deranged captor tormenting the kept.

Reach out and touch vise; reach within and think thrice.

The low howl of the nightly wretch cry on.

The dull drums of deaths nigh sincerely sung.

A yearning for salvation is met with apathy.

As you once had turned your back on the world, so they in turn you.