Poems that sing in my head

who you are...

To each thump... Bam

To each pump... Wham 

Your my heartbeat  

In out , up down 

Cold hot, jaw drop 

I expel 

You implode 

Words like daggers

Cut my soul 

A plethora 

Of hurtful things

Gouging deep 

Into my soul

Carving into 

Who I will be

And Showing 

just who you are

Lobotomy

Darkness of my mind envelops 

Covering the child in me

Hiding her deep

Till she forgets how she loved to be

Shadows dance inside this brain

Blackening the purest thought 

Altering to who she is today

Gliding effortlessly from synapse to ganglia 

Electric excitement becomes a dull ack 

What sparked her passion 

Has become a lost memory

An itch that tingles but can never be scratched

Longing turns to acking 

A lobotomy has been performed 

The electric path was removed

A missing lingers

A daily confusion 

Persists till 

Age makes you believe 

It is her who is the thief 

Time will heal these wounds

They say

Yet the loss is still there

That hole in a pathway 

Still wants to feel that spark 

No matter what 

Damage was made

And the space where you

Were in my brain is hollow 

Flesh and bone

I still remember that day, that phone call. You spoke in monotone, like reading a speech from note cards. I listened in shock; for 10 minutes earlier, you told me how much you cared. I laughed at first, thinking this was a joke; then, hoping it was a joke. 
That is when it began. I heard your hand reach through the phone. I felt it pierce my chest, ripping through tissue and bone. I heard the throbbing. I saw my heart, dripping with passion, be torn from my body. In just a moment, it was gone. I felt nothing, numb.
Now I walk zombie like looking, not for brains, but a heart to rip out, just to hear that sound again, that rhythmical thumping. Just to feel something once more. I am so hollow and empty, desperate to fill this void...
Soon the blank stare-sitting becomes waiting. Then I start to feel my veins slowly fill again and a faint sound taps in my ears. There you are; not stolen, just shredded. So I take encouraging words and thoughts, use them as tape to bind and protect these wounds. Still the damage is there and it does not pump the same.  I can only fill my lungs with air and use my muscles to walk around in circles. Sometimes lost, or is it a daze? I occasionally scratch at the itching scar . A reminder of a never will be. 
The tissue rubs against my ribs, hinting that I will never be the same. Stronger and guarded, I have become. No one sees me anymore. My brain has shielded me by keeping all at a distance. I catch people staring at the scars, but the fire in my eyes pushes them away. I am alone now, but never again will I be lonely.