The Uncanny Heart

I know this to be a broken heart
I know this from experience
I recognize this malady
this discomfort this ache

Broken ribs pierce a lung,
air slowly seeps into the cavity,
now empty, where my heart resided
before it burst, shattering ribs
puncturing the lung
not enough to kill me,
just enough to make me tired,
something about not enough oxygen to the brain
as it slowly fills the empty space,
leeching useless into the body
it no longer feeds

The twinge of vacancy
causing glazed eyes, mislaid thoughts,
forgotten desires…motives not worth the effort
of their eventual loss.

But this uncanny feeling is not what confuses me –
there is comfort in its familiarity
and shelter in the dark,
no hazards to lose what is not there –
what elation, what faith, what ambition?
All absent with the forfeiture of my core –

What obscures conclusion
is that no injury has occurred,
no sudden travesty or infirmity,
so what has generated such a heartache,
a brain sickness?

What is missing, save happiness itself –
which can still be found in
the blue sky
a good song
time with friends
a joke, a laugh
books and escapism –
an unsettling lack of loss dictates
at least an indifferent condition be established
– but not the torment of
heartbreak

Bits of mystery spill from the
Pandora box that now endures
in the airy space under my sternum.

Press on.
Let lack of heart not be distraction,
No more to wear upon my sleeve,
only a secret my face cannot keep.

 

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The Recovery

If I could wrap a thousand times a bandage round my face,

It still would not hide the giant lump that’s firmly taken place

Above my jaw, inside my cheek, the proof of battle bruise

The war occurred within this mouth, and all for tooth to lose

A poke, a prod, a dig, a saw, a chunk of cheek now swaddled with gauze,

Some missing gum, not ever chewed, and while I screamed he took his pause,

Put down the axe, the blade, the tools and took up his sewing kit to close

An open wound inside my mouth, though I struggled, they were not foes

No more removing wisdom than my brain, but a simple tooth which tried in vain

To stay so put inside this bloody drain, whilst the digging leads to me insane.

And finally done, I could rest assured I was complete now with my loss

Free to go, with a long set of instructions, at last with excuse to stop with floss.

Still, two remain to haunt my dreams – heaven forbid I go through this again.

Wonder-Death

I wonder what it is like to die.

I wonder if your breath slowly comes to a stop.  I wonder if you writhe in pain,
I wonder if you twist and turn, contorting your body, resisting the natural flow.

I dream of death, and endless sleep. I dream of surfing that last breath into infinite slumber.

Sometimes I’m frightened of the process, and so I cannot help but wonder

If I die, will I suffer, or will I become enlightened?

Will things move fast or slow?  Will I be cockeyed or completely aware?

I wonder if it feels like suffocating or a peaceful sleep.

I just want the pain to end, and unto me have this death creep.

precarious

The moment the words had left my lips, I felt a cool damp mist fill in the space where my heart used to be.  I became devoid of spirit.  And with my heart and happiness, also left my sorrow and tears.  I had no desire to cry, I had no desire to jump or move or run or complete any task.  I didn’t want to feel nothing, but nothing was better than how I had felt.  People say they want pain over emptiness – how can that be?  How can the knife slowly twisting and turning through the flesh of your heart, as warm blood spills over your mind and blinds your eyes in pain and lust, feel better than this dull numbness that begins to spread over one’s limbs.

She had been my Eden…and I had been the serpent: slowly winding in and out of emotions, manipulating and using my forked tongue to twist situations to my desire – only I was never quite as successful.  I was never able to remove myself, as I was always manipulating my own situations, and to an imperfect outcome.  I had regrets, I felt remorse, and I felt shame – things he knew not of.  And I failed to purge Eden of her goodness.  I failed in my task and instead was broken.  If only this had been the true creation story and we would have never needed saving; I would never needed to be saved.  I wouldn’t need to be saved.

In my precarious position, as I teeter on the edge of a knife, I feel so in place. I would never, ever, reach the side of happiness it seemed, but I was no longer being tugged towards the other – upsetting the balance of the knife, letting it cut my feet.  I was free of cuts, of pain, of suffering.  I was also free of smiles, happiness, laughter.  Oh to be in this position, did I feel yearning or relief?