Pale Heart
I wake up in a bed barely rumpled
to confront truth of jarring, endless ache -
I am broken, my pale heart beats crumbled.
My nonchalant is an ascetic fake.
My furtive thoughts imagine you as dead.
Finality could be absorbed by me
quicker than abandonment’s gift of dread.
Love ifs of heart-wish will not set me free.
Longing to be numb or somehow just gone,
I sit in the hole of my once whole heart.
I struggle to simply, tightly hold on
and humble myself that healing might start.
He who once asked me for lifelong embrace,
left me holding just pain of shallow grace.
January 31, 2018
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