A poet’s heartache

hopeless romantics
with flowers growing out
of our lungs,
hopeless romantics
drinking poison
that burns our tounges.

oh us,
us stupid stupid poets,
and our stupid stupid words,
and all these pages,
and how we turn our worst days
into loving hurt.

giving into fires
that burn our hearts to ash,
striving to build up walls
so we don’t get attached,
but we live in our heads a little too much
to face reality,
doubting our mortality,
turning to insanity
so when reality tingles
we turn it into poetry, hence immortality

when you break a poet’s heart
you turn into something unforgettable,
but you’ll never know
if it’s you,or would you?
because even after all the pain,
somehow the light always shines through,
and we survive
to morph you into something graceful.

you could rip out our brains
and take em with you,
take out our sanity
and go for a run,
stomp all over our hearts
and walk away,

But a poets heartache
will always turn you into
something exquisite,
something very,
you.

~V

-to the one’s who inspire the writing without even knowing it