Temptation of MurderMore Like This
My vision is blurring. I'm losing the view of the colors. I don't hear anything but
melancholy female voices singing in echoes. I rubbed my eyes more to clear the blur. I
noticed a group of trees. They are all standing together for some strange reason.
Literally they were close enough that their branches are tied as if they are never going
to let go of each other. I can't tell if they are tied around for protection or if they
are waiting for something. I try to look beneath the branches. See they all held their
branches at the same time but there would be empty spaces of arcs to see through beneath
them. I see one tree losing its leaves. This one isn't holding anyone's branch. It looks
too weak to hold its branches up. It's in the middle of all those trees. I look closely
and it's all dried up. It has no flowers or leaves. It's completely brown. This one
doesn't belong in to this group of trees... Its preferred environment is completely
breaking a writer's heart.never break a writer’s heartMore Like This
because your name
will forever belong to us.
you will sign it
into every broken bit
and one day, you’ll open a book
next to the words
"let me tell you about the time
i was hurt."
never break a poet’s heart
because between the beat
of the stanzas,
you’ll hear that heartbeat,
proving you wrong
with every line.
never break a writer’s heart
because we will take the pain
and make it into something
you could never live down.
you could live with heart monitors,
that measured the damaged pulse,
doctors who told you,
but you can’t live with the bold strokes,
smooth as a flatline,
that accuse you of being
the best thing
that’s ever happened to them.
you can’t live with it;
our soulmate, now writing.
You, now replaced
by a pen.
never break anybody’s heart
because you’ll cut yourself
on the pieces of it.
and see, hearts heal.