rottenart

Walled up inside
my plasticine heart
the blood turns stale.

My fingers trace the edge
of artifice.

A carefully constructed lie.

Those cracks I feel now
will widen with time
and shatter
no doubt.

And,
when breath becomes ash
and shards of the thing
float around in my chest,
I'll remember a time
when everything worked
and tears were easy to stop.