What lonely heart is this,

Oh weary thing, I bid thee rest,

No more thrashing and struggle,

Peace does not come simple for you,

Strange hands cannot be left to it,

Only familiar warmth can calm it,

The search for lips that press to mine,

Why will you not settle now?

She has long since splintered you,

Why even now thousands of days after,

Her face still haunts my waking nights,

When eyes fierce shut her breath I feel,

In many a silent moment rings her voice,

In others I see the pale imitations of it,

They play the part and dance to the music,

Fools, them all for thinking they feel what I have felt,

Now her visage clouded and addled by time,

It lessens not, however, the sting of her choices,

Peering back, I was a fool, but a fool consumed,

So many evenings, in her gentle embrace,

They were not wasted, but spent purposefully,

Now gone from my ears is the drumming of her heartbeat,

Yet it still echoes, echoes on forever in my head,

Would I, that a wish could pull from me this unending torture,

What would it cost, to so wholly excise her from me,

Is her breath and touch so deeply engraved into myself,

That to wipe it clean would leave nothing left of me,

How am I to be taken by someone again,

With her fingerprints left so deeply on every bit of me,

What will they say when they see her scars,

Left so very evident on the fabric of me,

Who will want to paste back together something,

So utterly broken by someone so long gone,

I bid thee once again dear ragged heart of mine,

Rest