For Poets: The Deconstruction of a Heart

by Ore Fakorede

I’ve wasted a chunk of my life,

Loving people that have no life.

I carry a wound from a carving knife,

Inflicted by the killer I called my wife.

 

 

See here the varicose veins,

Observe the fresh bloodstains,

Touch the raw flesh around my heart,

The suffering cycles back to the start.

 

 

Here’s the last roll of the dice,

I hope my gamble is worth the price.

I’ve staked this bet solely on you,

If I lose, my life is lost too.

 

 

But should I stall in the Reaper’s tow-away zone,

Here are the words for my marble tombstone:

“He loved, though it was a deadly crime,

Guilty by association, now he’s doing jail time”.

 

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