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Paradise Broken

There is much difficulty to be had
in diagnosing a fractured heart,
no medical professional required
to establish the wrongfully obnoxious agony
that accosts me so. What I would not give
to have a higher power suspend my senses,
and punish me ever so severely
with the removal of all emotion
destined to cause further pain.
Despite the raw potential for unflinching happiness,
dank despair, is as always,
unending in its hostility. I am, as I shall be
for a period of incalculable time, a book,
void of pictures and words, constructed
by emptiness in a broken paradise,
wishing to be inoculated from the love
I once held for you, so I may not grimace,
painstakingly, with tears brimming between my eyes,
after being condemned by truthful knowledge
that your heart beat will never share
its wondrous rhythm with my own.

A Crushingly Timeless Passion

I was told once it is okay to cry,
but when the fluid fell
from the aqueducts around my irises,
I was met with scorn and discontent
for showering those few socialities
around me with the weeping
of pained emotion. Criminalistic
circumstances were the charges
brought forth upon my broken passions,
scattered like an unsolved jigsaw
around the foundations of a life
left floundering in the endless atmosphere
of failed accomplishment
when the crippling strike was struck,
like a deal of vile occurrence
behind the veil of life, I wailed
with an intense suffering, who slips
into the empty void between us
and touches the timeless entity
that is our combined affection,
attempting to dare shatter
that which we have so cautiously
and frequently built upon? There was no response
to these few words, left unheeded,
and before I could announce
an outburst of like intensity, I found myself
spluttering beneath the weight of failure
and a doubt I could never escape from.

Misfortune’s Fate

Alright world, here I am, now you may,
with my permission, surely do your worst,
for I have certainly just done the same,
with the enacting of a commitment
I could never do before. I had believed
I made myself, soul and all,
over the longevity of life, decisions
and consequences folding the existence
of my time here into a piece of worthiness.
However, since the moment
the sun rose behind the image of your face,
it was always the touch of beauty
in the movement of your life
that made me who I am,
and though you shall remain unforgotten,
that is the least you should be rewarded,
until the end of my tether, it is now that I must
move aside. Rather than admitting
the three words I could never say,
but felt, like blood beneath my veins,
allow me to instead replace this confession
with one that shall set you free;
I forget you;
and now, with this proclaimed testimony,
you may venture forth to love again
someone who will give all that you deserve,
for as misfortune has decided,
this fate, is not mine to enjoy.

Forever Dusk

The sun set on my heart
for the first time this summer,
the colder season immediately approaching
without warning or intent;
an occurrence I never did see coming
until I was drowning
in a storm of ice and frost,
the fires going out
before time could officially be counted.

The Avarice of Unhappiness

Maybe we ought to smash all mirrors
if our fractured reflections
fail to expose the truth.
The supernatural rip cord
attached to this submersible called life
should return us to the plane
where eyes accurately see us most.
But happiness is sadly not the conclusion
promised to us all, with many destined
to relive a certain failure for infinity,
that is always dressed in different clothes.

Against the Tide of Love

I would wipe away my tears
with a quivering hand
upon the end of romance
if I did happen to enjoy it,
but, truthfully, I do not like
being in love. To experience
an emotion is to lose
complete control, feelings
encasing a heart in ideas
never once approved of
by the once dominating mind,
now rendered moot
by an all-consuming affair.
Choice is not an option
when it comes to choosing
who we wish to hold against
our heart, and unless every
part of my corporeal self
and soul had a hand
in this decision, never
is it one that I honestly
wish to have bestowed on me.

The Plight of Mortal Beings

My want to love you, rendered fiction
forevermore in but a moment,
your words of hollow romance
suffocating the essence of my heart
into a shade of puce. I cannot
ever rectify nor cease the pain
committed unto me by your morose
decision, to slice apart my romantic
pledge with the sudden impact
of your words. Some choices cannot
be taken back, my decision
to open my vulnerable heart
proving to be an adverse action,
exposing that which could
be taken advantage of. Any grace
is fractured and loneliness succumbs
my body in its twisted decadence,
no trace of eternal love remaining
within my severed consciousness.
This plight cannot be justified
by these writings as I attempt
an explanation, and in doing so,
I become conflicted by the truth,
drowned in great misfortune,
that happiness is only meant
for fairy-tales, rather than
the plight of mortal beings.

Into the Sunset

Euthanasia my heart, if you will,
so I may feel no more. Despite the light
of life blossoming before me,
I require a permanent reprieve
from the pain of never knowing
love again. The feeling slipped
so suddenly that one time
through my fingers, and no matter
what tactic I attempt, I am erased
from passion’s vision. No longer
can I claim the touch
of a would be paramour,
my heart becoming entrenched
in a pool of paramount distress.
I can feel little more
than the fatigue of loss,
as I witness the woman
I would wish to make my own,
vanish into the sunset evermore.

Shangri La

Alas, you have come to claim defeat,
to which there is no answer,
says the voice of troubled reason,
and thus, I leave so discontent.
I am no chummy conversationalist,
but if I were to look at you like the Goddess,
as the dawn breaks on the cusp
of a beautiful morning, with dew settling
in upon the leaves, glistening
under the light, and birds chirping
happily, singing awake the Shangri La
of Spring, would you confess
an appreciation towards these eyes,
which dance across your beauty?
Let us be honest for a moment,
in this hall of monsters, what titles
do you have which I do not,
that prevents me from touching
the curvature of your silk heart?
I hardly expect a response
from someone such as yourself,
who has been granted everything
by the grace of Godly beings,
and only now in your presence,
do I realize the foolish extreme
I have gone to, in the hopes
of calling your love my own.
But if happiness were to abound
for one decent moment, may your footprints
fall upon the path, so I can one day
follow once you have readied
yourself for my affection. If my wish
were to be granted your acceptance,
I would wait for aeons, before the realization
your love would not arrive collapsed
atop of me, and any moment afterwards
would not prove early enough
to spell an adoring future, the toxic
memories of lonesomeness
filling me with doubt, until, in your absence,
I forget the feelings I once had.
Sadly it is too late for me. Do not waste
your words or tears upon my fractured
existence, for I am already dead
inside, and no amount of kindness
will ever sympathize with the ever growing pain
of never knowing how your lips
taste upon my own.

Men Don’t Cry

It is said by some that men don’t cry,
but what is this liquid beverage
streaming down my cheek?
Fueled by consistent woe,
a waterfall of triumphant plight
threatans to crucify this face
of mine with endless grains
of salt. My face will become a beach,
but the touch of gorgeous women
will be absent from its barren fixture.
If only there was someone
for me in this mating game,
but never do bachelorette’s
fall for men, plucked by the pull
of exponential sadness. Women
adore men of strength and honor,
and sadly, I am out of both.
I could cry aloud about how content
I am with the current situation,
but the honest truth
is that life is better lived
with someone there beside you,
and in my case the reserved seat
has remained vacant for longer
than I could ever hope to fathom.
The pain of never knowing
love is drenched in blissful ignorance,
but the agony which consumes
my now wretched heart
is from having this glorious emotion,
and feeling it ripped
right out from my arms.
If only I was empty, then never
would I be consumed, and instead
of love, all I feel is the touch
of absentee happiness,
and to leave this planet
with such awful err, would be pain
beyond all possible comprehension.