When the love dies
from a broken heart, it hovers,
haunting you and your every move –
At first, you might live a
numb existence, lost in
limbo or purgatory
before things begin to fester and
eventually scab over.
I lick my wounds and ponder…
I ruminate, spin, and
search aimlessly for answers –
Where does love go to die?
I allow myself a ridiculous amount
of time to wallow in
silent triage where I am
embraced by the delicious
exquisite torture I so desire –
Picking at the picked over scabs
in dark silence, I sleep.
I am awakened from this “love death coma”
aphonia afflicted and drunk from sleep –
I feel somewhat bound
and gagged by a strange,
jagged lump stuck in my craw –
Bitter and sour, its taste reminds me of
rotten milk – gagging,
choking & coughing up years of
self-inflicted memories, manipulation,
past lives, & broken
promises – I’m left breathless and
struggle to come up for air, yet
it’s time to purge, to cleanse…to live again.