Creating Shadows

Everything went wrong when I met you. Met my hearts return. You let me fly at loves throat and put decisions in my hands, where only the burning stars paid silent witness in our passing passions. Then you left me to fall. Spiraling down until I felt the firm ground beneath me, some weird security that put me back on my feet.

How you broke my little heart. You squashed it, tore its fine ligaments, shattering and stamping it into the dirt and turned it back to me. The worst of all tortures. You left my heart wholly whole in my hands. You did not steal a piece, not even for keep sake.
My heart would of beaten stronger if you had taken half. But you gave it back to me whole. If only to show you cared, I would have been happier to receive a slice of it. To know somehow that you still wished to care about some bit of me.

But no! You instead believed I cared for my whole heart, that turning away what I had given you would hurt less and keep away my stainless grief. So silently wrong was your proposal and so I let it slip between my fingers, let my heart ache be cured tears and sleepless nights in mourning for my returned heart. Used goods as it should aptly be labeled.

And then my shattered silence fell and turned. My strangled throat wrought raw and red, warmed to delight in sorrow. And to tare flesh enraged, the wild fire rolling in my eyes. This yearning for revenge became my powerful weapon.

Cunningly it sits and broods on my breast, filling the place of my dejected heart. Desolate irrational soul, that takes delight in mischief of a dangerous kind. My mind could be touched. (Raving in sorrow or bent on revenge) So slight the touch I could indeed deem it illusion or angelic.

And for my own priceless sake I should believe my vices are my strengths, just so I don’t cry myself to sleep again, or keep myself awake with my own reckless sobs. So sad. The contours of my face, white washed without my heart. My pallor cold and damp, yet I see and know and believe. And still I live.

The heart remembering at times the bruises you left, the soft pain so unfairly felt when my heart beats faster. If memory played in harmony with my heart it only pushed more merrily at my hurts. But my Whole heart goes on. Each drum beat sounded, announcing my arrival. My parting from this dark clay you clad me in.