Pitter-Patter

The pitter-patter flutter of a lover’s broken heart, Like a contorted portrait painting or a Picasso piece of art. The stream of roll’n, swollen tears on the jilted lover’s face will start, As our spurned tragic figure faces a world now torn apart. The completely empty prospect of a future all alone; The world in which our broken soul violently has been thrown. The heart that beat out songs of love, now hardened like a stone; The King and Queen of Happiness, abdicate their royal throne. If in time you don’t lose your mind you surely will survive; Mouth to mouth from the next in line; your sick heart will be revived. But be advised the smear of tears won’t be the last ones that you’ve cried; Love that stays or goes away equally can hurt our pride.