when it’s broken, the whole world knows
and mourns with you.
but a bruised heart?
it doesn’t shatter into a million pieces,
it doesn’t ooze out on the floor.
it goes on beating,
it listens to your weekend plans despite
the ache rippling through time,
tree rings of dead blood —
sorrow spread thin but sharp with each contraction.
Thanks for reading. Please clap, follow me or enjoy another poem.
🐝 beth
