Searing hot pain
where my heart used to sit.
Pokers and flames,
burning all that’s left to a crisp.
Chocolate hearts,
already beginning to melt.
Mass produced, love on demand,
on a conveyor belt straight to hell.
Mass produced to take
every penny that they can.
It's all sell. Sell. Sell.
Cards etched
with messages of love,
like we need a special day,
to say what our hearts
should be feeling anyway.
If you have love
say it loud, everyday.
Don't wait until you are given permission
by some soppy advert on television
to purchase the rights from hallmark,
just shout those words from the heart.
Dead trees,
sold as sentimentality.
Sold a lie.
In paper torn confetti hearts,
thrown around the room,
mist sprayed perfume,
rose petals lead the way
but their thorns always obtrude,
always pierce
into these veins,
filling with the poison
of a billion untold truths.
Heart hallowed out,
filled with tears
to sit your flowers in.
My love, once an open ocean,
now barely a trickle.
A stream
that to has nowhere to go.
So, farewell old ghosts,
sail on those hopeful boats
across this dead sea.
Enjoy the love that has now died.
The Spectres of romance you see.
and too many days cried.
Rose red, I weep tears
of mourning instead.
Flowers I gave, admired
then left to wither and fade,
whilst I was devoured, consumed
and left for dead.
Now learning
to love myself instead.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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