The Ten

 

My heart breaks in silent 

  Compound fractures 

With every whisper of the alcohol on your breath. 

My heart dies a little, everyday, 

  Eating it's own allies, as the taken for-granted leaves less and less light 

 To live by. 

I am a waste-away, haunted shell-like hollow- 

  Chasing a billowing smoke 

That casts a shadow 

On the rendered near. 

Exposed, for what I could never amount to, 

 A vessel forlorn with the grief 

  Of bad luck, 

But heartbreak the 10 daggers. 

Ever emerging from the darkest ash, 

  From an even deeper chasm in the earths hollow mound, 

I am only me, when I am turning over, 

 In transition 

  Between ivory towers 

Dying a death in love. 

Confused in love

 Wanting none of it

Rendered null against your Sun

 losing 

Self. 

Feeling perhaps as small...

  As you want me. 

Back into the darkness

  I fall. 

  Once more. 

10 daggers below. 

And then 

 

I will Rise.