Heart-Shaped Box


To whom must I bare
The crevices of my skin
My subtle frailties and
The tales of my sin

With a hole in my chest
Unfaltering, I begin
The vacuum within absorbs
Letting it all sink in

I was a hollow bird
Inferius; a corpse akin
Rigor mortis enveloping
Soul-dead puppet to reckon

The fatal err; a crime
Beyond virtue’s line thin
I grievously wronged myself
Thus consequentially grim

My fault? You ask thereof
Nothing less herein
Than the evolutionary hamartia
That I cared more than him


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