Where do heavy hearts go?
They slip in between the cracks
And underneath covers
And wrists and lips of half assed lovers
And they bath and seethe
In loneliness and despair
Unless a rose is given.
Then their cheeks are beet red
And their eyes blurry from waterfalls
Slinking out of their eyes
And they forget what is was like
To slip so quickly into quicksand
And bury their hearts in an untouched treasure trove.
Where do heavy hearts go?
Some stay rotten like the corpse of a dead fish
Others become golden, forgetting thorns and settle for
Blooming free.
I like to think you are the latter.
I always like to think you bloom relentlessly.