Whispers of the Mind

Heartburst

Is it wonder that so congests my heart?
The kind that swells the passages and stretches the seams.
Until it bursts into a frenzy of sporadic scratchings on unsuspecting paper.
As if waiting would cause the tiny sliver of freedom
To curl itself back within its blankets and hide. Hide, sheltering itself from storms of my own creation.

These winds of terror that whip my heart to a raw, red bundle of frantically beating filaments.
This lightning that strikes my soul through the cracks in my failing at being stone.
I am not stone.

There is no quiet before the storm, nor after.
Only the cloying, brutal silence that hangs off every thought like hooks,
Barbed for cruelty, not for purpose.
My own creation.
I sit in unbreakable self-silence, drowning in my own isolation.
A moon. Condemned to stare at beauty through dim, cold headlights.
Surrounded by disparate hopes that I will never reach.

And I rise. I rise from ferocious scribblings that bare their false impression with blissful ignorance.
Staring proudly in irresponsible joy.
For it is not their fault. I knew, I knew it from the start; But one must wonder still, is it possible to write my heart?

A/N Thank you for reading! Please vote and comment if you liked it :) I just want to thank Crimsyy especially for being an amazing person :D It's great to be able to talk to such understanding people and without that I don't think I'd have been able to publish this so thank you!!