PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I feel my heart in my chest groaning,

I could reach in and scoop it out,

spooning the death out of it like old caviar.

That is the substance of my heart-

black, ambiguous mass, making sucking sounds.

Its life is over.

It will never again be able to melt,

only pretend, and i see it-

I have written about it for more than one person,

and all I can do is hurt them.

The destruction is contagious,

and getting worse.



My soul is a black hole,

empty, worn out beyond recognition.

There is no nebula now, no warm red fire waiting to receive it-

it is angry and alone and barren.

Its life is over.



I made many mistakes,

mainly passively waiting for love.

And unfortunately, its too late.

I am a bomb, waiting to go off,

getting bigger and bigger as time goes on-

I want to blow up.



I have always loved the ocean.

It was a mystery, waiting, it seemed,

vast and forever and for some reason,

mine.

And now I know why.

I must do this I praypraypray everyday please

pleaseplease hands render this so,

and do not regret.

Do not fear the cold, open mouth of your ocean.

Horde the stones, the floats, the irony.

And thank Virginia Woolf.