A shadow is spreading in my heart,

viral by nature,

an infection feeding off my memories,

swelling my chest.

 

Blood leaks out with love,

while hope struggles to hold on,

a seemingly endless battle

 

I no longer own my heart,

and truth be told,

I haven't owned it in years.

 

It's been sold to the highest bidder,

time and time again;

the person too intoxicated to understand,

and willing to show me the most affection,

a double entendre of failure. 

 

The auction's up,

and the bets are being placed;

an over-anxious auctioneer,

a lonely prize.

 

The neon life;

tweets, posts, blogs, status updates,

friends, music, movies and video games,

sports, jogging, working out, dancing,

poetry,

nothing works for long,

and it shouldn't.

 

Life is meant to be tackled had on,

hit your bruised forehead again,

on the same dull, white brick wall,

from school of old and the office of new,

until you need a release.

 

What release?

none.

 

Create as you will,

nothing will avoid the end,

not even your art can buy time.