My, this useless heart

My world is a broken bone that didn’t set right, it is a million pieces of crystal clumsily glued together.

I am nothing more than the consequence of upheaval.

I am without a door, a window. Maybe it’s snowing outside, raining maybe.


Maybe it’s freezing, hailing, a tempest slipping into a tornado. Maybe the ground is quaking, sliding apart to make room for my mistakes.

I am a hundred degrees below zero in my veins.

I am the withered leaf that never fell, never met its fate; yet is dead.

I am the inevitability of the perverse manipulations of the earth.

I am claustrophobia in my throat. My body a frail definition of structure, a habitat of the stigmata of the wars I lost.

I am a severed mind I can’t talk to.

And yet this heart of mine is a hopeless part of me clinging on to hope, defying everything I stand for, battling to kindle the fire I doused long ago… My, this useless heart!!!