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A heart broken by its own accord,
Looks at the world from distorted little pieces,
Through a tainted kaleidoscope of fear and doubt

It cringes at the thought
Life is embellished by the light of the living
And not by mislaid dreams or hopeless meanderings
Scripting the soul with sorrow and gloom

Too long it has managed to survive
In a net of prefabricated emotion,
Skimming over the smooth contours
Of clarity and reason

Becoming the ironclad bottom of a vessel,
Running into jagged reefs of credibility

Refusing to sink into depths of its misery,
Its skin is much too thick
With righteousness and self-preservation

This is its hell,
Its refusal to accept the inevitable,
Residing in an unforeseen setting
Where dreams crumple into ashes,
And voyagers fail to reach shore

Where a worn and exhausted fire
Cries into itself
For it has given up trying to rekindle its dying flames

The heavens are opened up
To this heart
Yet it refuses to feel the wind and see the sky

It has been blinded
By its own indifference

Truth
Now synonymous
With love
Decomposing in an endless night