fold the ventricle to the right
the pulmonary to the left
the wrinkled capillaries need to be ironed
pillowcases of vessels need to be thrown in the wash
take one last whiff of his scent
before he's just another sheet in the laundry
***** laundry
clean of heartache

the director of my life
didn't watch enough
romantic comedies

It was the simplicity that struck me,
That stopped me.
That single simple tear,
Tearing its way through the facade
Forging through her make up,
Revealing the pale, naked truth beneath.
Before falling silently
Into oblivion.

Her eyes seemed to shine
With a heart wrenching tragedy.
Her hands trembled
Her voice shook,
And she bit her lip
With a sense of desperation
With a need to control
The screams that brewed beneath.

Is it so easy
To break a heart?
I watched as the light left her eyes,
As the hope left her,
And her body crumpled.
She became so small,
So broken,
In such a public place
Her world was torn apart.

The waitress kept working,
The patrons kept chatting,
But I could not hear
over her heart cracking.
Slowly her mask was melting
The bravado disappearing,
And the vulnerable reality started to show.

Now the tears are flowing fast,
Hot and heavy they are drowning her.
She is gulping for air,
She is stifling the sobs,
She is shaking from the pain.
She doesn't see me,
She doesn't see any of us.

But I see her,
I feel her.
I can hear her heart breaking,
I can hear the white noise
Of so many thoughts racing through her mind.
I can feel her tears
As they burn down my face.

Is it so easy,
To break a heart?

The hum of the fan plays my mind,
illusions of you,
delusions of me.
Memories I want to un-remember,
caution that should not have been thrown to the wind.

My mind is blank sometimes,
then it's on fire.
Nightmares are gasoline,
sleep is unattainable.

But the hum of the fan plays my mind,
lulls me to a waking sleep.
Hallucinations seem all to real,
voices yet to come.

No help, no help,
a fight that's better fought alone.
Still the hum of the fan plays my mind.

I still smell of your smoke.
Wisps of carbon monoxide ribbons
through my hair and allows me one more
glimpse of me, sitting over there.

I still smell of your smoke.
Your laugh sending dragon puffs
whistling on the wind, the warmth of
it, of you, of here, beckoning me closer in.

I still smell of your smoke.
Roll up placed between fingers, resting
by my side. Your light hearted words a
whisper, of the defence you hide behind.

I still smell of your smoke.
Tar resting on my clothes, a
memento of the addiction I
once did swear to loath.

I still smell of your smoke.
simple, but it's true.
Every time I breathe it in I
can't help but think of you.

Smells good.