One Soul, One Hundred And Two Hearts

i know you must be hurting. except i haven't really seen you so i can't be totally sure. but since we share a soul and mine's hurting for no good reason i can think of, it just must be yours. and since we haven't spoke you don't tell me what's the matter. and i wonder how i could help.
so you know i would tear a hundred hearts out to be sure that your's is safe. and against all odds i'd hire a taxidermist and have them all stuffed and saved, displayed on my mantelpiece.

and then my soul would cease to hurt.
the other one hundred would replace that empty space on my nightstand where at dusk we'd take our hearts out and leave them there 'til morning. at night we would dream and come morning we'd reconvene and carefully place them back in. those heartless nights in which our love didn't matter, it was purely the soul that remembered our actions.

and you left me alone, with my heart on the nightstand, attached to the soul we share in such an uncanny way, but half that soul is mine and maybe i'd want custody again sometime soon. if i remembered what to do. me - here, sharing all the good, and you like hell, and you! all i have from you is a bit of misery that i can't undo, can't return without hurting myself and i don't even know what makes it grow, or puts it to rest. these lingering pains that put me to the test.

how i have a vested interest in your swollen from too much hurt heart, i haven't a clue, but someone up there is enjoying this show.

Birth Of Wrath

i just recalled what broke the final straw, and started the free fall. it was you talking nonsense to the sky, about how better things were gonna come your way. ramblings that got me thinking now might be the time so i abruptly interrupted and told you that was me. but you weren't convinced so i was unsuccessful. and deep down i knew you'd deny it, and deeper down i knew i wasn't prepared to hear it.

i left that conversation with the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. but it was replaced with the weight of a heavy heart. one that recovered surface but not internal. one that threw the towel in, and tried to walk away without any hurt feelings left, or swept under the rug. one that told itself everything would be okay on an hourly basis, one that retired to the bathroom to weep and bellow. and it worked overtime to mask the plague it caught from you.

couple of days later i read the heart it's last rights.
things were touch and go, but it made it through.
and the religious people close to me considered it a miracle.
and to their faces i laughed and told them they had to be kidding me, but behind their backs i agreed and cried from relief.