Heart Burns!

- By Swathi
His heart, a cardboard box, learned to beat.
It was all so foriegn, He wondered himself 
how it was possible that something dead had managed to breath,
He tried for a long time to clear the dust that had accumulated.
It was nearly too much some days, 
and he would strive to keep it still, to make it stop, but he rarely succeeded.
And even when he did, 
it was far too brief to be considered a success.

Since he could remember, his chest had been numb.
He taught himself to smoke,
 He discovered the warmth his heart couldn't supply
 through the burn his lungs never asked for,
He's been fading away for far too long, and he's forgotten how it felt to be whole.
So he remained a ghost beneath his skin with falsehoods for a pulse,

He is a self made man, He disposed of people
 as much as he did things...perhaps even more,
And so when this pink flesh told him it would no longer perform his bidding,
He was on uncharted territory,
 He dare not call it love, 
He had gobbled up and spat it out that word for motives
 he will not admit to oneself is always simpler that way,

His heart, a cardboard box, learned to beat.
It was all so strange to him, and he wondered
how something dead could have managed to breathe.
He dare not name it love therefore he remains without a response,
He'd made a promise to himself a long time ago: 
"Perhaps one day he'll learn to speak."

-SWATHI MADHAVAN
 

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