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The Decrepit Heart Remembers

I once loved
so fully,
I cracked open
beneath the weight
of someone
who now feels
like fog.

He was real—
once.
But time,
and the soft grind
of sorrow,
wore the shape
of him away.

Still,
my heart thumps,
a decrepit engine,
rattling on
with broken rhythm—
every beat
a memory
I wish I didn’t
still want.

I ache to return,
knowing the knives
that wait.
I am
a snake
coiled against fire,
slithering back
toward pain
with my eyes wide open.

Even in this
ruin,
something stirs—
a pulse,
a scent,
a breath of maybe.

And I,
battered
and trembling,
am not
gone
yet.

Copyright © Becoming trude from the ruins | Year Posted 2025

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Anne-Lise Andresen Date: 6/10/2025 12:30:00 PM - Short deep lines... congratulations on your win in the contest :) - Login to Reply Becoming trude from the ruins Date: 6/13/2025 10:34:00 PM Thank you so much, Anne-Lise. This poem came from the kind of ache that lingers in the bones—the kind that reshapes you quietly. I didn’t expect it to be seen this way, let alone honored. Your words feel like a soft hand placed on something still healing. I’m deeply grateful. ????