Poetry: Fresh After Your Heart Is Ripped Out

Fresh after your heart is ripped out,
you feel the loss only in the moment.
You don't feel the loss of what was
or what might have been.
It is not until later do you feel the wrenching of despair
of what you truly lost.

As you sit upon that throne of hearts,
looking down at your accomplishments,
will you feel full?
Will you have crushed enough people below you
to feel finally complete and whole?
Have you gathered enough hearts
to replace the chasm where yours is supposed to be?
I think not.
Monsters in fairy tales
and scary bedtime stories
rarely stop what they are good at;
what they are bred to do.

That is what you are.
A monster in the truest sense of the word.
You left me for dead,
but I survived.

I may be broken
from years stolen and years forgotten,
but I survived.

You never expected me to,
did you?
The voice that tells me that you did this to test me,
or to play hard to get,
I know it is not true.

I know what you truly do.
I have seen first hand the destruction
in the hearts of men who fall in love with you,
only to now have permanent residence
within that ruined city that once housed our future.

So, carry on, brave sneak thief.
Carry on, Destructor.
I know what you do,
I will not allow myself to once again fall for your tricks.

You have lost all right to think of me as a friend,
I want nothing to do with you again, demon.
You live in your heart kingdom,
decorated with all the hearts you stole,
pin mine nice and tight to the wall.
We don't want it to escape, do we?