Broken Heart Syndrome

she slid into the mysterious light

that taunts from just beyond the skyline,

 

the only fertile plain

of my dried and cracked Pangaea

 

now drifts the blind unknown,

 

out of reach,

out of hope,

out of love,

 

I fell back into my nuclear winter;

the miserable black pith of a snowballed Hell. 

 

my molten core has frozen over;

 

my home has become a cobwebbed

box of rusty scalpels

jammed into the corner

of a coroner’s tool shed.

 

hold the obligatory boudé.

Les déchirures ne peuvent

pas lever l'amour mort.

 

send your best wishes

somewhere else,

nothing beautiful

lives here anymore.

Author's Note

* boudé - pout
* Les déchirures ne peuvent pas lever l'amour mort. - tears cannot raise dead love.

Reviews

[Divinity Sleeps in This]

You write a veritable cocktail of images and leaps of thought and association. In particular I most enjoyed the start and the end.

Your talent would translate admirabgly to song-writing, have you ever considered that? Do you play guitar or sing?

1.

[Chris]

This one has "Bite"!...

[A Red Red Rose 4 U Luv]

Wow, this is sad and heartbreaking. Very well written!

[John Jackson (El Juero)]

Mourning in word...a tiny speck of healing on the horizon.
Gorgeous writing, nothing left to imagination.