autumn leaves twirling like
the love, the love we had
this is the serenade that drove me mad
little words that used to mean the world to me
now burns like embers in the heart of me
burn-holes like cigarettes on the skin
burning my heart, within

you took my heart and plunged it in the river Styx
there is no cure for my disease, no easy fix
hell is the definition of my being
tortured by the abuse of the torture machine

…you call a heart

dead leaves twirling, falling, spiralling down
into nothing….

(c) 2013 Allen Simpson