Wreckage (Poem)

I'm standing blindly,
In the middle of a wreckage.

But there are no mangled vehicle plates,
Or injured victims who can no longer count to five.
Just a single, beating heart,
Bleeding on the gravel.

I hold my breath as though going underwater,
When all I'm doing is bending down
To inspect the damage.

Cracks appear from nowhere,
Intertwined like delicate cobweb veins.
Gently, I brush my skull white fingers,
Against the cold, raw exterior,
They tremble in a new shade of dark red.

That's probably when I realized
The heart belongs to me.

On certain days,
I'm the clueless bystander,
Standing at the sidelines,
Looking passively upon the wreckage,
Perhaps, I will throw in a look of mock sympathy
But it's not me that’s hurt,
I am another person entirely
I am not me.

Those are the days
I see, but do not feel.

On other days,
I become the owner of
That broken heart in the wreckage,
Those are the days when I wake up to reality
And the tears blind me to everything else.

Those are the days
I feel, but do not see.