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ART35
... by Ipku, literature
Literature
...
The shape of my heart is not of a heart.
My shape is like a balloon.
With an emotional string attached to a red skin,
a skin that shone under the moon.
It started out small when I was first born.
My first breath, it came from you.
With each breath you gave, each breath I received.
My heart, it just grew and grew.
But then your breathing began to slow down;
it eventually came to a stop.
With your weak dying breaths, my heart still grew,
But your last breath caused it to pop.
My heart is shriveled and empty inside.
Every passing day, I grieve.
I hold so dearly to the memories you made...
... Mom... why did you leave?...
