The Last Breath Wasted

A simple poem about the common broken heart.

 

Call me not onto the dais of what once was and has long withered away.

Call me not as you are but as a stronger presence.

 

You can no longer go back to the way you were, Living and loving peacefully, you were impervious to pain.

Back then, what did being unloved and pain have in common?

To you, they were completely different matters, but now that you’ve wadded in the waters of anguish caused by a broken heart, you shall know that its name is pain when it has choked forth the last breath of your lungs, and dried the very last drop of your heart.

When you’re down on your knees, breathless and heartbroken…know this:

You are but an heir to a long lineage of people who live what you live everyday. You are not the first person to be heartbroken.

You are not the first person know the name of pain.

 

…

 

You freeze up.

You’re addicted to this presence.

You can’t bring yourself to accept that you can get over this.

You can’t convince your heart that there can be more to life that this.

You can’t convince your heart that there is actually a chance to move on, and you can take it, but you’re afraid that the calamity already imposed on your heart is too much to lift.

You can’t possibly accept that you might be loved unconditionally elsewhere.

You can’t accept that life is…just…that…simple.