A Thousand Jigsaw Pieces
I still have that heart you gave me.
You remember, the heart that you transmogrified
into a thousand jigsaw pieces;
The pieces that apparently could not fit your conception of love;
The pieces that you threw around
as if you were testing the limits of my sorrow;
The pieces that became more pieces and more pieces
and more pieces by your machete-like words.
I call you the butcher!
For hacking into my stitched heart
and scooping out its insides like a pumpkin on Halloween.
Except unlike on Halloween,
There was no candle lit within it—only atrous emptiness;
There was no carved smile that simulated blissful sentiments—
only facelessness;
And,
There was no pumpkin—only remnants.
—-
I still have that heart you gave me.
You remember,
The heart that you transmogrified
into a thousand jigsaw pieces.