When the heart

is worn,

of being apart,

of being alone.


When an ache

is born,

in the vacant voids,

and the echoing noise.


When the love

is torn,

like angry flesh, that bled.

like those letters, I misread.


It comes tearing through


The suppression,

The restrictions,

The constriction,

The confessions.


Never caring about

the laws.

Makes it’s way through

the flaws.

Struggles in my

frantic grasps.

Tumbles through all

clumsy clasps.


It fills and shines,

in triumphant glory.

Spilling yet another,

secret story.


The most unruly

heedless one,

tickles the check,

in mocking pun.

My defenses, defeated,

still try in vain.

A routine, repeated,

lets mutiny reign.


Trickle, tickle, trip.

First sliding, silently.

Crashing, shattering, breaking.

Then rioting, violently.


The armour,

The veils,

The walls,

The will.


It comes tearing through…


Maybe that’s why,

it’s called a tear.

 broken glass

2 thoughts on “Tearing through…

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