Heart

We missed each other for a million lost years,
bridged the gap in an infinitude of three one-quarters of a lone tear.
I grasped your smile in the twinkling of a moment,
and we went through Hell bringing back the eternity of a sacrament.

Sitting on the edge of twilight,
listening to the one story you’d tell of giving up without a fight,
I tried to comprehend this unnecessary necessity
and wondered why even you had succumbed to this crazy love sanctity.

I could never begin to tell you how I feel,
like a haemophilic sore in my soul that will never heal.
The truth is that there could be nothing more;
even though we’re so starrily perfect, there’s no forevermore.

I woke up one day to a dream of you and you alone,
and couldn’t fathom the intensity of my dream diary clone.
Maybe we were meant to be so much better without each other,
perhaps, it just being we’re missing the point of forever. 

You’re perturbed about the wisp between fantasy and reality,
telling me about fairytale lives but that just isn’t your destiny. 
I always write stories with languid lies and perfect plots,
but this time round, you saw through my facade, leaving my ink pen to blot.

Pretty is as pretty does, nothing much;
you should know that better than me, the one Fate couldn’t touch.
You can’t do anything to a girl without a heart,
just know the biconditional for her life lies in her teary art. 

I met you on the verge of a cosmic breakdown,
the night when I was trawling the skies for signs of a heavenly clown.
I think you’re supposed to mean so much more,
but I already gave my heart away in a glass case, leaving me a hollow core.

Yes, we’re lovely as angels and conceited as hell.
I made you laugh and you made me well.
I was running life without a heart, but you came along
and showed the world I was a deficient Barbie needing sustenance to stay strong.

I’m pale and thin,
but I’m not ED-ing—my conscience is fairly clean.
Maybe that’s where we’ve gone wrong,
and I’ve always thought you were a heartless clod leading me on a glorious chase all along.

Because I wanted to eat up the pain of the world,
stuff myself full with the excesses of this skinny whorl.
Live in enigmatic lies and shaky truths,
I didn’t mind pain and I craved broken troths. 

I court trouble like a magnetic field of magnum force;
there isn’t much meaning to life except for the correction of the universe’s course.
You talked about fantasy overriding reality,
but I’ve already lived till the end of my fated destiny.

We’re worth so much more being whole;
you never quite knew the truth about me, despite your hold.
I wonder whether the other girl has a heart, unlike me.
I ponder about the possibility of you leading the other life with her, just to be.

Art has always dictated my life, and my words are not mine.
They’re dead stars of the bygone years, sprinkling dust in our mind,
lovely, sadly descendants of  the Bang and art is infinity,
but Heart is my sole gift, and key, to the hole of my soul, my Pretty.