Pulse

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Photo Credit : Adamsund at deviantart.com

A heart in pieces,
crimson shards
washing ashore.
She picks them up,
their jagged edges
carving new lifelines
in her palms,
and her feet slosh
in the receding tide.
Each icy chunk
of her decaying heart
beats softly
against her fingers,
their pulse matching,
slowly as she walks.
The horizon stretches out,
wind whipping her hair
into tangled ropes
that strangle her breath.
The broken heart beats on,
its quiet thrum in her ears
mixing with the hum
of the waves,
the drum of the rain
playing tap dances
on her cheeks.
She keeps finding pieces
she’s lost,
her hands fumbling
through the sand and salt.
She wonders
how a heart can be
so broken
and still go on pumping,
still manage
to swell
when she remembers his smile.
The comfort
of that soft murmuring beat
surrounds her
like smoke
and her feet move forward,
her hands
snatching up missing pieces
as she goes.

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