To Care

To care, A peculiar notion isn’t it? An envelope of warmth, A hand ghosting a shoulder As you mutter the musical lull. Or spit daggers to the opposing To care, To shred your beating heart Into tiny bloody fragments, Scattering them like confetti over anyone Who dares enter the party of your mind. To care, To bang your fists against their walls Until you bleed out from your self-inflicted wounds As you watch them trample those fragile, Fluttering fragments under foot. To care, To care for self, To hold those glittering jewels Like a poker player with cards abreast. A twisted self-preservation and the path to emptiness, Alone. But I’d rather care, I’d rather love, rather live, rather break. Because to care is to have purpose And give meaning to that beating heart.