A broken heart can
kill you as much
as any heart attack,
every day you die a little more,
inside
it is empty and aching
outside
a decaying shadow of flesh,
there is only this gray life
as you go through
the mundane motions and rote routines
of hazy days, sleepless nights,
swiftly passing seasons and
rapidly disappearing years,
still carrying the unbearable weight,
a hollowness filed only with
loss and longing,
and sometimes you get what you want
but not what you need,
and even a forced smile
betrays the sadness
that you are merely existing, not living,
all your life
a lost soul forever,
feeling like a ragged, solitary
scarecrow in november
standing so alone
in some barren field
under a melancholy gray sky.
