Array ( [sid] => 58361 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Carapace [time] => 2004-08-01 02:52:07 [hometext] => A poem about how people's hearts have become extra hard in recent years. [bodytext] => I’m longing for a good breakup,
A little excitement in my life,
Some “Believe me now, it isn’t you.”
or “I never meant to make you cry.”

But things aren’t so easy
in this day and age.
Hearts are harder and
so darned resilient.

You can cast them aside
in favor of a younger model,
you can spit on them, lie to them,
cut out their feet and siphon their blood

And still they keep on beating there
inside their newly evolved granite shells,
and try as you might,
you’ll never get the dumb thing to break.

They all only heal up with the years,
grow another layer of cold stone,
move on, go to group therapy,
and tell each other how beautiful they are

And how much of a ****** you really were.
Yeah, that’s what hearts do,
but that’s no fun.
It was so much better in the olden days,

Back when one good swat
was all it took to burst the cute, tender thing,
and send it’s life and love all over the room,
staining all the linens. So much better that way,

Back before trust was harder
to win than the lottery.
There’s no excitement in that.
There’s no love in that. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 172 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Carapace


Carapace
Date: Sunday, 1st August 2004 @ 02:52:07 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Butterat_Zool
I’m longing for a good breakup,
A little excitement in my life,
Some “Believe me now, it isn’t you.”
or “I never meant to make you cry.”

But things aren’t so easy
in this day and age.
Hearts are harder and
so darned resilient.

You can cast them aside
in favor of a younger model,
you can spit on them, lie to them,
cut out their feet and siphon their blood

And still they keep on beating there
inside their newly evolved granite shells,
and try as you might,
you’ll never get the dumb thing to break.

They all only heal up with the years,
grow another layer of cold stone,
move on, go to group therapy,
and tell each other how beautiful they are

And how much of a ****** you really were.
Yeah, that’s what hearts do,
but that’s no fun.
It was so much better in the olden days,

Back when one good swat
was all it took to burst the cute, tender thing,
and send it’s life and love all over the room,
staining all the linens. So much better that way,

Back before trust was harder
to win than the lottery.
There’s no excitement in that.
There’s no love in that.

This poem is Copyright © Butterat_Zool


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