Death of the Heart

The words in my veins,

The phrases in my breath,

The prose in my eyes,

They spoke of love for life.

I sought to understand myself,

And the voices rose; menacing,

They were instructions in many directions,

Not one, I found embracing.

And I, confounded and befuddled,

Grasped at things I deemed concrete,

A fallacy that has me struggling,

And now, I'm dead on my feet.

No hope, no love, no vigour,

Barred from any splendour,

I haven't the slighterst interest,

In this route I have chosen.

To have regrets at such young an age,

The wounds are scabbing,

The scars will never heal,

I shall not, I believe, live a life of zeal.

Because I'm still the asinine fool,

Who silenced her heart,

Make no mistake, I am paying,

With the death of my heart.

__________________________________________________

Note:

"Death of the heart; it's the ugliest death there is"

(Oscar Wilde in Paris Je t'aime)

Thanks Adi, for barging in and singing Spongebob's 'Best Day Ever'. You made my day. I'm still hurting though. Goodnight everyone.