Break

Does a heart break?
Not definitively, it might, if
Struck in just the place.
Remove the keystone, a heart collapses. Sink a blade of words
And a heart will leak slowly,
Deflating. Will it –
POP! I think not. A heart is tugged, thin threads, white hot:
Subtly dragging a heart away from mild breezes
Into cold hard currents,
Running deep in pits of
Consciousness. A heart begins
To rip. Silent, twisting lacerations. Soft, then searing deep.
Weary, long-standing bones of foundation stress, then SNAP, giving out,
Dragged under to drown. Muscles pull, veins tear, things slide away:
Slip, slither, gone. 'Til empty, barren voids
Ache: lost in light, blinded by darkness.
A heart doesn't break. It watches from
Outside in, the inevitable destruction of all it
Wanted to keep, to hold, falling away into an
Abyss of its own deep roots. Tangled, strangled in everything
Smiled at and waved to and struggled to love.
No, a heart does not break, it rips itself apart.