I tend my broken heart

This piece was inspired by the title of another poem named Broken Heart. The title was enough to spark my imagination and take me down very dark corridors in my mind.

I tend my broken heart

 

I tend my broken heart with drinks

 of gin and filtered cigarettes,

 it’s not like hours slip me by,

 they stall and ooze like molasses

 making unhurried time into an eternity,

 listening to the tick, tick of the hour hand

 grinding around a white clock face

 

 I tend my broken heart with sonnets

 that drive me mad,

 they talk of love and passion that fits

 the bitter bile that sits upon my tongue

 

 I have stripped to my shirt and undies and

 dance atop my kitchen table, swaying

 as gravity threatens to pull me down

 

 I tend my broken heart with songs

 I play for my neighbor’s cat while he

 shrieks in protest (perhaps my broken

 heart reminds him of his own),

 the cat struggles free and flees leaving me

 lying here naked and grotesque in a stupor

 on my floor.