Born With a Hollow Heart in POETRY

I see my reflection in the water… and it’s always windy when I look. Distorted is the creature that glares back at me.

I have given away all my best virtues and cut open my heart so everyone can have their piece; leaving nothing for me. Yet the pain I endure must mean I have left some infinitesimal trace. A tiny clump in my chest cavity; a coagulated artery… Look into your palms… (I am bleeding to death).

I cannot share that which I do not have, nor do I want my pieces back. Never did they offer me solace; never did they give me warmth or a place to hide. I was born with a hollow heart. And I learned that only by giving it away to those in need did it ever become whole.

I can feel it beat from 1000’s of miles away, but I cannot hear that rhythmic…

thump…thump…
… … thump…thump…
… … … … thump…thump…
… … … … … … thump…thump…

My heart is only in my mind… a memory, and an old one at that. My mind is all that I am, and rotten to the core. Depression is just a word, in itself nothing, but driven by a hatred for oneself in a world that beats him mercilessly… it is a powerful force. I envy people that I can no longer commune with… for finding success in my failures.

I’ve killed myself so many times over I can not remember the first. I’m desperate for an egress… as I long for the anger of my youth. I need to be taken back there. I am fearlessly afraid. I need to complete the puzzle, but it’s impossible. For I possess the last piece… the last piece of my childhood which was taken from me; with it, my innocence, my beauty, my future....

I cannot be given what is not truly offered. I cannot accept differently that which I have given away. I shall never be complete, because another must empty to fill all that I’ve lost and if a sacrifice is to be made, it will be made by me and me alone.

I’ve lost every battle, surviving with less each time. I have been pillaged over and over, but war rages on. My arms scathed and scarred; my breath is weak. My eyes bloodshot, my hair disheveled and streaked across my face. Everything… burning, stinging… tendons tightened, my muscles are in knots. The pain is unbearable!

I want to say the right thing, but never do I find the words. If I try and say anything, it will be wrong. If I sit in silence, I’m told to go away. All I am is a code of chivalry in ashes… I want to stand over a sewer and liquate, bones and all… for that is where I belong… in the company of flies and disease. Not this Hell anymore....

By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright 2006