When I say “heart”
My mind scoffs as it has been taught
The heart is a joke
Known only to fools and dreamers
Their eyes blind to wisdom and reality
But my heart hurts
No sharp pain
But a vacuous shell
Unknowing as to whether
This ache comes from loss or lack

Ignorance doesn’t leave wounds
And the bitter pill of nature
Loses flavor swiftly
But this heartache lingers on
It seems normal to mock myself
To say the heart is for blood
The spirit is hormonal
And the soul is a myth
But why is the pumping in my chest
Nothing more than an underscore?

A neon light flickers
It reads “vacancy”
As the aged chambers echo
And wait in persistant emptiness
On the floors are stains
Scarce belongings from past patrons
A seashell crushed underfoot
Dry and old
Once a home
Now nothing but frail bone
These keepsakes flickering out as well
As the power fades

Now even the notice of vacancy is gone
And cars drive by without hesitation
All I wanted was friends in my heart
Visiting every once in a while
Living their own lives
While their memory
And occasional company
Would be sufficient charge

These empty rooms wouldn’t be full
But they would shelter beloved faces
If only for the day
The tears I don’t shed
Bleed from my heart
And my shameful sentimentality
Rips wounds from those leaks
As if the cynical hands of humanity,
My own included,
Sunder the walls
Expelling friendships and memories
Past and future
Into the night
Dark
Cold
And ever lonesome
-Galwyn

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