The Heart of an Angel Coming Apart

Alexander Ziperovich

 

Apart from your heart it is cold and wind blows,

hard, bitter winds that will blow snow inside of your soul

 

Cascades of red freezing arterial blood flowing out of you,

masquerades, people smiling, trying to convince you they aren’t scowling at you

 

Lies aplenty, Christ must have fucking hated Christmas, 

let the wood burn in the happy homes of all these fake Christians

 

We sit insufferable, suffering in our stupor of pain,

there is no pain like being alone, there is no agony like watching others carry on happily,

as you sit and think how you are probably not even worth the word ‘tragedy’

 

But you must burn fire, burn the house down, burn until nothing is left,

burn the frown down off of your face until you are left with scar tissue,

life cannot be explained by me in six stanzas, but if pain is the issue,

I can relate with plenty of tears and a lack of soft tissues,

and before I wrote poetry for others in pain, 

I dealt with the hard nights 

with heroin and cocaine,

so try to float above

all that is

insane

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