The Heart

The same darkness that corrodes the heart
can be found on a dark night
It is of course the midnight moon
How terrible it is at communicating
It is of course a form of a simplistic disease
Not explainable, completely impalpable, truly incurable
If this spirit remains sane after a trip with heartbreak
and back, one may say that spirit was awfully lucky
It is of course the craziness that eats the flesh we live in
It is of course the feeling of one thousand bees
swarming in the stomach until you cannot breathe,
sleep nor eat no more.
Thankfully, the heart is capable to love, I think.
A boiling simmer, as the tears fill
the eyes of that one that is awfully fatigued
More so, entirely and unfortunately numb
to what feelings were once
What exactly was a smile perhaps?
Only a true smile, the type
that makes the cheeks blush and the dilated eyes twinkle
Could expel all the blood-thinning tension.
That fills that poor love's soul.
Intangible, to be frank.
Sad beyond belief to see that one's world
could be shattered by a single syllable named
love.