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by Andres Perez

Fickle hearts may run with pleasure, but lose their right to moan.
 
They worship only the flesh that is feasted on, and use the spirit to wipe their mouths clean.
 
When love is near they hide their form and smile wide so the whole world can see:
 
"Yes I am doing well!"
 
They boast.
 
"I have everything I could possibly need!"
 
They claim.
 
"I am truly loved!"
 
They cry.
 
When they're alone, they toss and turn.
 
They scream and shout.
 
They drown in tears.
 
They decorate the walls of their empty homes with the different shades of their former self.
 
They rip and curse the shell that so passionately obeys them.
 
They tally the empty days by etching into their selves with a jagged tooth of a former lover.
 
Fickle hearts are the loneliest of hearts.
 
I would know.