I Can Feel my Heart Rotting.

I will glance into the metal, reflective surface of my spoon,

Out at lunch on a date

Or walk by a wall of mirrors,

Or stare into the black reflective surface on their glasses.

I see rosy cheeks, and my bright, green eyes.

I see my dirty blonde, super curly hair

that swirls down past my plump breasts.

I see a college student, half way through her studies,

Ready to travel to London, or South Korea,

just because I am at the age of logically thinking so.

I look perfectly alive

pretty, pink, plump.

 

But I can feel my heart rotting inside my chest.

Every beat of the muscle, pushing out death.

The flesh of my beating center turns black,

and the flow of my blood creeps to a stop

like a murderer in a dark city street

sneaking upon the protagonist.

The blood in my papery veins turn dry,

and that makes my fingers cold,

my tongue turns to cotton,

and my toes numb.

My lungs are full of ash,

As the decaying of my heart feels

Like I’m burning at the stake,

As the fire slowly eats away at my body.

But the ash fills my lungs nevertheless, and now I cannot breathe.

And my heart has stopped beating, and I grow weaker and weaker.

And all that circulates through my body is now

Death. Ash. Cold.

The world inside me is ending

But as I look in the mirror,

I look fine,

But I feel dead

And there is nothing I can do to stop it.

 

-S.L.S. 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The poem had the feel of honest and direct thoughts.
"The world inside me is ending
But as I look in the mirror,
I look fine,
But I feel dead
And there is nothing I can do to stop it. "
When we fall. We must find dead-end to find new hope. Powerful words dear friend. Thank you Samantha for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Re-Pete]

Very powerful, dark. I'm sorry.