A bizarre farewell.

And so it comes,
the end.
The curtains fall
quite like
the heart
into a deep well
of perished hopes
and slaughtered dreams.
A fountain,
a source of
rotten expectation
unleashing
drops of
wasted blood
and squandered pain.
This pit is
the end.
It is where
love has
disposed of
your body
and ripped
your heart
and
abandonded it,
still beating,
next to your
timeworn
human shell.
A heart
no less decayed
than its
once shiny
wrapping.
It turns out
that the body
is just a
bandage
to keep this
organ from
perpetually bleeding.
And as time
goes by,
this tourniquet
gets covered
in gore
and drowns.
It seems that
nothing can
stop a wound
from aggravation.
No medication,
no meditation.
It just flows
until the
pain is clotted,
until the ache
of not having
is carved on
what you have;
nothing.

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