The walls I built of my paper-mâché
Are flaking and crumbling apart.
The gaps and the cracks are spreading much wider-
Revealing my crucified heart.
Here it's displayed, atop a white pedestal...
Once guarded so tightly, now exposing it all...
It once was so young, so vibrant and strong.
Beating the rhythm to a light, wordless song.
Pumping out happiness, sucking out pain,
Making my blunders seem more like a gain.
It started to falter, often skipping a beat,
But the rhythm continued as though on repeat.
Overexertion was crucial, too much stress perhaps,
Causing the heart to pump madly until it collapsed.
'Twas put on display, in an upright position,
To be seen as a model of perfect cognition.
Nails held it steady, the spot-light was bright,
Causing the mass to heat and ignite.
I took my emotions, thoughts, aspirations,
Mixed them together to a paste combination.
This became a tomb for my heart on display,
So that quietly...solitary...it could decay.
**continue below**
2007-12-04
19:50:59
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10 answers
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Happy. Finally.
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Poetry