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Tattered Heart

Oh, woe is a heart so tattered, so torn, left with open wounds yet to heal. The mask you wear to hide the tears as you try not to feel. The pain of every slash, every gash, every cut that slices you, Knowing that somewhere close is the happiness you’re due.

No salvation, no quick cure, nothing to fight the overbearing misery. Eyes filled with wonder to why the angels allow the demons to be. The promises, so many like a dead garden just filled with ugly weeds. The new life that is promised, desired in the form of a worthless seed.

A seed that brings forth more lies to the crimes of that battle-enriched heart. How much more can happen before you finally give in and fall apart? How much more can it stand to continue to beat and fight to belong? How much more can it withstand while others think it’s strong?

How many times must a soul be ripped from the dreams of hope? Before tiring from the cuts from holding onto that frayed rope. Some people don’t think before they open their mouths to speak. Some people don’t realize that within their cries the rage weeps.

The feel of that rush of misery as it floods your soul taking all its best. That feeling of sadness so deep the only salvation is to take that final rest.

L. Dee Walker - 4/6/2013

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