Poemando

My heart is a tangle, is a tangle

A knotted up mumble

Unintelligible, rarely humble

And evil, horrible, terrible

My heart it crumbles

and I hear it grumble

So proud, so arrogant

It depends on the angle

My heart is a cannibal eating itself,

calming its thirst with my tears,

caging my spirit in mangled up spheres

of hardened up, toughened up flesh

My heart it hurts,

but convinces itself it just itches

My heart it burns,

when intentional cuts break the stitches

but my heart just pretends

Yes, my heart just pretends.

Unless it is sure no one listens

Hate’s its hobby; love, its business

although it enjoys its job and

I don’t know if you’ve noticed

but as it pounds automatically,

it takes over every single pound of ME.