how cold this heart is, red granite left
outside over night.
how the shards fly as it explodes.
how beautifully, artfully it shatters
a symmetric eruption leaving us in awe.
hard hearts, they break.
they shatter like window panes.
they are jagged to the touch.
and they slice open everyone
who tries to mend them.
but soft hearts are the worst. they bend
and stretch. they become weak in areas
that have been pulled too thin.
until they are stretched so far that they must contract to protect themselves
then they tear like the muscle they are. they parts becoming irreconcilable.
their ripped edges do not create smooth faces like the hard ones. But instead
lifeless tentactles dangle with nothing left to hold on to. unconnected to each other,
stringy remnants that were pulled from the arms of their brethren.
lonely, with the life running out of them.
praying that someone will mend their ruptured heart.
soft hearts decay. hard hearts erode.
regardless, they are both worn out more thoroughly
than their original appearances would ever
let on.
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