Poems of the Broken Hearted


4. Love


A word so commonly used.

Rolled off the tongue so easily,

It's true meaning long lost.



Like glass

Is the state of my heart.


Those three words

Have lost their meaning too

As you speak them to me

Every hour,

Every minute,

Every second,

"I love you."


You're all talk,

It's true

And you know it too.

Act? Never.

It's not what you do.


Your love is like knives,

Piercing through the heart.

At first it felt so good,

But now its no longer an art.

It's a slow and painful death

As I lie here alone in the dark,

Drowning in the sea of my own tears.


As I stare

At the pitch black of my bedroom ceiling,

All I can think of is the sweet sensation

Of a razor blade deep in my skin.

The gentle trickle of thick, red blood

Dripping down my fragile arm.


This is how I remove the poison

You have injected into me

With each of your passionate kisses.

The tears streaming down my face releases

The emotional pain,

The blood dripping releases

The wicked love...


The "love" you have murdered me with.

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