Charred Hearts

We love. We fear. That is how we break, ultimately. The cold globules of sand we are created from turn to ashes and dust in the end – that is their fate after all. Everything that sees the light of creation has to lose itself in the darkness of destruction. Slowly, this world will tear apart. All the glitter will fall into a dark and deadly abyss. There will be no you, there will be no me; only the silence in between. Come to that place we once called home. I think they have it under their radar now. That way, the bodies you slice will turn up at my door and hence, the blame is all but ours. It’s very easy sometimes to get yourself immersed in hate. It has the look of an angel but the mind of a demon. No machine they build can tell you how much you are loved. Sing in the old rain, it will make your voice echo in deserted, crumbled heaps of my heart. Because all we are, in the end, is nothing but dust in the wind.

Everywhere and nowhere – that is where your aimless soul is now. We are nothing but our memories. Just as the snow of blood falls on a frozen ground, their hope drains out of their eyes and they fall – like angels cast down out of heaven. I have wings, you know. You just don’t see them due to the blinding light they emit. Music bakes my soul, whereas it shatters yours. We can’t save everyone, they say. But what if there is no ‘everyone’ to be saved in the first place? Just a drop of water in a writhing sea; that is how much our tears are worth to them in this modern age of science and corruption. We speak with blackened tongues. No amount of words can tell you the importance of how much you are worth. In a room that is all noise and darkness, my thoughts shine on for evermore. The door opens and a king wearing a crown of my fear walks in. He takes me by the hand and promises me to make me his queen in his empire of nightmares. I wish I could refuse – but we are all slaves of our own selves.

Listen to the hiss of the morning start as it passes by you through the air, like an arrow let out from the bow of the salty skies. How you walk, how you dream – it is all a mystery they can’t ever figure out. But just sit tight; life is all a nightmare, but it all falls apart sooner than you know. Expectations don’t mean anything when you don’t know if you can trust the one you have them for. But then again, what is trust if nothing but the broken flower of a promise floating in a dead garden called Ignorance? They will make a violin out of our broken heartstrings. But it won’t produce any melody for our hearts are charred.