Alive

My heart is a sad world, 

One with no colors, no ears, no eyes, 

Sometimes I am surprised it beats at all, 

A faint sound of frantic footsteps rushing towards the walls

Of my heart. 

Are you at my heart’s doorstep? 

Would you like me to invite you in for some tea?

I’m afraid the hinges are rusty, 

The floors hollow from the 

Termites eating at its foundation beneath. 

My dear, 

Are you trying to paint my world alive? 

I’m afraid, I’m afraid. 

Please don’t come inside. 

My dear, 

Do you suppose me alive? 

My heart has been dulled, 

Refined, 

Tamed, 

It beats and beats and beats, but my world is 

Silent. 

Can my heart be trusted? 

After all, its walls are dusted with the years and years

Of living, but am I really living? 

My heart beats sickly, 

And it speaks to me of starry skies, 

Slight smiles exchanged from passing cars, 

Grand cathedrals in which we’ll have our wedding,

If I am alive. 

My dear, 

If you can, 

Come through this rusting door, 

Lay your head against the warm afternoon tables,

It’s been prepared for you. 

Mind your steps, for the grounds are hollow, and

If you fall through, perhaps I am not alive after all. 

Will my heartbeat change for you? 

I wonder if you will paint the starry skies for

My heart and my heart will beat 

And beat and perhaps 

I am really alive!