Open Heart Surgery ( A Poem)

You speak of me

Write my name across a mahogany casket

and it is comfortable to me.

More familiar to me

than the overarching sensation of the sun

and how I reached out into the galaxy for salvation


But you darling,

you wreak of embalming fluid

and broken dreams

you wreak of smiles

and broken hearts

and how you severed mines


You wreak of empty promises

and words

that meant everything and little to me

and when you spoke of love


I believed you.


How you could take the sensation of night

and plaster my day

with the power of a storm cloud.


I used to sift through the rubble,

grating my fingers on the sharp jagged edge

of your bladed tongue

just so I could find myself

and remember that perhaps

my beauty was still in tact.

You stood so tall

towered over me

as if you were a God

and I was less than the dirt

from beneath the bottom of your shoe


and In fear and pandemonium

I worshipped at your alter.

Giving every piece of me

for the simple hope that perhaps

you would see me.

for the hope that today

would be the day

where your words

would not cut through my flesh.


Never admitting that I was your prisoner

your only chain

that of your cruel intentions

and how you fed me

with just the crumbs from your table


Our relationship was that of a temple

but your faith was overwrought in


There are no words

for the untethered silence

that stretched between my heart

and your fisted belligerence

No words that could ever conjure the sensation

of pain

and how some wounds are so deep

they feel like vultures clawing at

the inside of your chest.

There are no words for you

and how you were everything

but that which you promised you would be.


Moments that tick off into seconds

every sound of the clock resounding with




I own You


Your Body


A Hideous Mess


Every Memory Resounds like


Your face



I will crucify you

over and over again



And still I take flight
in search of the only light
that could ever resurrect
the beauty from between
the sensation of fear


still the night is familiar to me
slithers through my veins
while the last faint melody
of your promise dissipates
into the emptiness of my chest


still to describe the conundrum
of tangled phone chords
and how they jutted
through your chest
like the vain outstretched feather
of a peacock at the end of long day.


so I hold a glass to you
simply because
you have held my heart
in your hands,
balancing my veins
with immutable assurance


my life becoming the magnificent
rendering of a
love hate filled relationship.


I still see your hands somehow.
a mere reflection of my face
contouring across its surface.


I peer often,
look longingly with in its reflection
with the hope that perhaps
I will find a dollar sign etched there.


a reminder of you
and how you feasted
on my ear drums,
like a drunkard at the buffet.


you cut your teeth through
the leather bible
and claimed that these words
were but a financial transaction
and I was your purchase


but this party
was more than white gowns
and black leather suits
more than fancy bouquets
and black suede shoes


it was all you
a funeral wrapped into
all the elaboration
of a wedding banquet
and wedding vows
that sounded alot like a final eulogy
at a funeral
and a slow delicious gait
that joined all of these dreams
into matrimony with the ground.


The band is still playing darling.
It’s tune a luscious delicious
final hymn for you
and your words
and how they were nothing
and everything


and how you were simply
that of a corpse
dressed In your finest two piece.


The song is still playing
it’s words


“Here comes the… sniper.”

Melodic Rose


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