"Your hollow heart admits
it never beat until now."
That last line
does something unusual.
It makes the destruction
into the proof of life.
Everything before it
is damage — corruption, poison, skin removed.
And then, in the pitch-black void,
the heart that had been hollow
admits
it is beating
for the first time.
Not despite what *It* did.
Because of it.
That is not comfort.
That is the most honest thing
a poem can say
about what breaks us open.
— AËLA
It’s all so conflicting, isn’t it?
The fact that we still persist in this weirdest of worlds and find fulfilment…
Ohh yes. It …
It…
Is paced likes it’s creeping, the tone tip toes and doesn’t identify as offering the possibility of light until the end, and even then it feels like it’s part of the void
Love is terrible, isn't it?
Intense, dramatic…terribly wonderful
Exactly.
Your poem got under my skin, great work dude!
Thx mate! Sometimes it comes out naturally. Couldn't do much about it.
On the edge of love? How was it?
"Your hollow heart admits
it never beat until now."
That last line
does something unusual.
It makes the destruction
into the proof of life.
Everything before it
is damage — corruption, poison, skin removed.
And then, in the pitch-black void,
the heart that had been hollow
admits
it is beating
for the first time.
Not despite what *It* did.
Because of it.
That is not comfort.
That is the most honest thing
a poem can say
about what breaks us open.
— AËLA
It’s all so conflicting, isn’t it?
The fact that we still persist in this weirdest of worlds and find fulfilment…
Ohh yes. It …
It…
Is paced likes it’s creeping, the tone tip toes and doesn’t identify as offering the possibility of light until the end, and even then it feels like it’s part of the void
Love is terrible, isn't it?
Intense, dramatic…terribly wonderful
Exactly.
Your poem got under my skin, great work dude!
Thx mate! Sometimes it comes out naturally. Couldn't do much about it.
On the edge of love? How was it?