Speaker's Inferno

Abandon hope all ye who enter.

I’ve been to hell a few times. Well not me but hearts of mine have. See to me you can never love with the same heart after it has been broken. You have to grow a new one. A new love with a new heart, even if it’s a old love. Hell is a place where my old hearts burn until they are nothing but dust. Like the dust that is carried by the outside wind, with no concern from me. From dust it was made and to dust it returns. Some people don’t have the heart to grow another after it burns. They don’t understand you need someone else’s heart to grow your own. The seed of love must come from somewhere.

I will tell you about my hell and the torment it brings me. I will tell you about my hell and the justice it provides me. I will tell you about my hell and the closure it never gives me.

I pray I never have another heart go to hell.
I know the pain of an unfelt love.
I know the feeling of having to cage up your love.
I know the rejection of unreturned love letters and unspoken words of passion.

I know the sound of it, the feel of it the pain of it.

The tragedy and pointlessness of it all, the blank expression and hopelessness of It all. I have sent off many hearts to their fiery doom. I have learned so much. Love is understated over rated, and not appreciated by those that have it. I only know what hell has taught me. Trial and error. Trial by fire. If ever I can grow a heart that can connect with her own and capture her affection. I will let the world know what true love is. But until that day, the world will only know how hot my hell is.

I’m trying to avoid an emotional slump I’ve been facing for years. I’ve never really stood in the mirror and faced the tears that stream down my face. When you feel the pain, you just want it to stop. You feel your heart stop. And your world stops. But your emotions keep coming, no matter how much or how long you stand crying wondering when your life will stop

Stop.

Stop the tears, stop the emotions, stop the pain, start the self guided tour through hell. The place I take my heart every time she breaks it. They say hell is a place souls go to be apart from God. My personal hell is a place my heart goes to be apart from her. And my heart sits in hell doubts and self consensus all around it. And my heart burns. It burns among the ashes of other hearts I have grown for her. Every time I am foolish enough to grow a heart she send it to hell with her words.
“play by the rules.”
“Don’t make me be a bitch to you.”
“I don’t have time to talk to you.”
Fire and brimstone, fire and brimstone, my heart was made for the fire and brimstone.

And I sit at my hearts grave and I cry. I hold my chest and I cry. Not for the lose of my heart. For the fact that, that was going to be the heart she loved. That would be the heart she saved from the fire and brimstone. I let her smile plant a seed in me and I showered it with my admiration for her. And I know nothing else.

As I wake my heart is long burnt and the stains of agony have dried on my face. Yet the pain is still on my chest. I still see her in my eyes.

I call her, she tells me she is sorry. I am sorry to. I feel her smile, and a seed is planted in me. I am glad she is not gone, and the seed grows….

Over and again/again and over/over and over/again and again