The Coldest End

Everything but a heart makes a sound when it breaks
The silences weighs on your chest as your ribs dampen the sound
And the shattered pieces sit in the cavity where it was once whole
Still functional, but barely
Stuck in the cycle of healing,
Then breaking, then healing again

But the pain is a rare drug my brain craves
So it can tell my heart how stupid it is
And put up walls just for them to be torn down again
As my heart cocks back and aims,
For a target that it’ll always miss

But isn’t it funny how often we confuse lust for love
Until our bodies are connected but our souls are not
And thrill of the rush is gone
But I’m so starved for touch
Even a knife to my heart would be as if a gift from the gods

So I wait for the next target to come by
Just so my heart can miss again and cry
And I carry the broken pieces of my heart
Cutting through my chest
While my brain shoots up my pain
And gets high again.

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