I suppose I think too much
Maybe all the time,
Maybe not at all
But let me ask you
Let me hand over the mic
How do you think your heart would look like?
Would it be made of glass?
Revealing it’s most tender parts
Even to an unknown passerby?
Not afraid to let it shatter
From the hands of someone that matters
Or maybe
Someone you should have never loved
With each heartbeat reverberating
Bouncing and jumping and thumping
Off its fragile glass walls
Reminding you of your fragile glass heart
Your most fragile part?
Or would it be made of stone?
Rock hard, cold, unforgiving stone
Stone scraped to a shrapnel
Tiny bits sticking out
To hurt the ones you love
Even if you try your best to love them back
Everything you do
Seems to hold everyone back
And after it breaks
You try to make it spark
By rubbing the pieces
Of your cold stone shattered heart
But still you seem to pull everyone apart.
Or rather, would it be made of flesh
But not just flesh,
Flesh wound with string
The piercing sting
Of the blood and tears of years
Gone by,
And even though you try
To get over the memories
All you are left is with
A pool of your own sorrow, pain and filth
Each heartbeat makes you feel the guilt
Because you know how it feels
To feel like you’re not here for real
With each echoing beat
Your heart feels like it getting beat
Beat up for being dumb and numb.
But still there you be,
Without a sound or a thing
To say,
In the bearing of your poor heart.
Or would it be of flashy neon signs
Of everything your heart pines
For, but out of reach
Yes, just a little breach
In the electric love that once flowed
Through your lifeless veins
Keeping everyone away
Are the nasty neon sparks
That once fired up your pretty little neon heart
Now just pretty neon art.
But I guess,
In the end we all have to play a part
In the making of our own heart.
Authored by Ishika Paul.
