Stung

Another bloody heart poem, sorry.

The crash of silence thundered but once,
allowing only a thudding recoil,
I understood,
to be my pounding heart,
reverberating,
with agony,
without the presence of time,
I no longer,
remembered,
holding,
your letter,

My heart bleeds,
into my red throat,
shallowing breathe,
churning air stale,
resisting without,
restrained emotion,
yet to evolve,
aerobically,
to understand the shock,
of losing you,

Eyes moistening,
as the gravity,
of what they shared,
to comprehend,
slipping through my fingers,
to the ground,
where they were now to study,
illiterate pain,

Fear and confusion,
multiply inward,
as a huge chasm erodes,
my heart leaving,
only embers,
of desperation,
I called desire,
then,
not now,
singe my flesh walls,
to become feelings,
of ire, and fire,

I exhale heat,
beyond a moist perimeter,
as eyes clam,
from the vent of ashy plume,
that surged from the chasm,
within me,
about me,
because of you,
to me

The hand of time studies its victim,
in a slow winding arc,
as fate precipitates,
what future,
is,
and what past,
was,
with no remorse,
before and,
after

to sit alone,
absorbing,
fate,
and reality,
I begin,
to cry.