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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
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