/lit/ - Literature

Love is a violent whirlwind
Sweeping you up off the ground
Immersed within a beautiful cloud
Of color, of light and of sound

Love is a pleasant delirium
Soothing your aches and pains
It dries every tear, it unbreaks your bones
and resanguinates your veins

...Until the cloud spits you out
Onto the cold, wet earth
Disheveled, confused, dirty and bruised
An unceremonious rebirth

Plummeting back to the colorless world
From which you once made your ascent
The aches and pains begin to return
Amid debris of your life, you lament

Yearn to escape the cold, grey world
For return to the beautiful cloud
Having fallen from grace, you desperately chase
But re-entry was never allowed

Gone is the warmth on which you relied
Before long, the memories fade
There isn’t a way to get back inside
Her heart is an iron blockade

Nothing to do but pick up the pieces
From your life’s exploded remains
Was the cloud ever real? Or is there only Sheol
This pit where you languish in chains

Search through the wreckage, what will you find?
Is there enough left to rebuild?
Ears still ringing, like angels singing
But even they can be killed

There’s only enough for a man-shaped shell
Like a cinderblock, hollow yet strong
It could be a house, for a bird or a mouse
Or whatever small creature comes along

You’ll never be whole in the way that you were
But there’s still something you can provide
Only the empty have room in their heart
To become someone else’s “inside”.