Thursday, August 11, 2016


The Ghetto Tarot by Alice Smeets
Some of us learn that the heart has an infinite capacity for breaking. The pulse pauses, sighs, is silent, and is assaulted again just when it gains the courage to beat.

There are people that cause seismic shifts that cut deeper and deeper and deeper the soul, you are my nightmare.

I try desperately to wake up from you, shaking my head, screaming my own name, but the nightmare persists. It has invisible hands that knot themselves around my neck. It's the kind of nightmare that no one else sees or hears. That no one else would believe. So I conceal the scars and force a smile.

You're the kind of nightmare that makes me want to. Stop. Breathing. Because the terror is real and beyond exhausting. My nightmare of love turned to hate. You promise to consume my life and deplete my faith until nothing else remains, but that beating heart drowning in front of me, that I just can't save.

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