Titled by Untitled

I lay there in my bed listening to the ceiling fan as it clicks against the warm air. I could feel the pain creep into my heart and shatter it into the millions of pieces that I can no longer picture the image of what used to be. I close my eyes and let the film roll and reminisce about the passion that once grew fearless beyond its depths. My body numb with chills and stained with the blood left behind by my limb beating heart. He can’t hear it anymore; all that remains of his tone seeking voice is the sent that lingers on the skin of which he stole the heart from. Laying cold in his hands; avid for the warmth of which cannot comfort it anymore. He leaves my body alone and unattended only to bear the clicking of the pulsating fan above my head. Scars and burses leaving behind there unmarked abrasions of sorrow grief and anger, only to haunt those too deep to conceal their identity of being left behind to embellish what was once there. A new he lingers in the presence of lies and toiling. Inching behind the quiver of a vernal heart, only to have the vigor to approach with animosity…for the role of the mind is his heart and the role of the heart is the mind. Punishment for the unblinking of the eyes of the body which lay in this bed…captivating in the eye of the spinning fan…tears leave this body now accompanying the blood which has chased its self free longing for its heart.