this heart bleeds for the bloody

this heart bleeds for the bloody.

it yearns to take on every trouble, all the shortcomings,

when people would hold anyone but themselves accountable for carrying the weight of their world.

this heart belongs to a martyr,

and there isn't room in this world for another victim.

the mass-graves the neo-civilized live in are full, over-populated, and dangerously infectious.

this soul muscle wishes it could make the one holding that heart stand up as to not drown in shallows,

as the body gives in to the gravity of everything and the lungs take on water, salty and familiar,

refusing to give up any sorrow the heart would attempt to shed in tears.

this blood turns into water;

the body doesn't sink, but it feels nearly crushed by a depth, under the pressure to be the answer

to anything, to anyone, any answer but its own.

the last betrayal felt as the heart strikes before it's sent fading into obscurity of the abyss, turned into nothing to me.

i wonder, "why would you pull me down, drown us both, to save yourself?"

in that moment, i see my worth through that heart's sense,

and it is not more than what it wants from me;

regardless of, even empowered by, the pain it brings.

so, i stand up and walk away, and i don't look back.

i leave it to drown itself without bearing witness,

high on that lonely mountaintop-

in a shallow pool of misery, of its own accord;

alone, as it wishes to be.

i leave it, as it has left me without remorse as soon as it got what it wanted.

and it only wants more and more of what i have.

i leave it because it only wants me to hurt like it hurts.

and i don't want to hurt anymore.

i leave it before i choke on his sorrow.

and i spit his sorrow out of my mouth.

i leave it so i can live.

and i am at peace.