Bleeding Heart

Bleeding Heart

My bleeding heart was the platform from which you preached your hypocrisy

And launched your endless tirades of bullshit,

Heralded from a tyrannical reign over my life,

A crown you had no entitlement to.

If you were a King,

You would be Henry the eighth

And you would cast me as Anne Boelyn.

Once the oh so sought after Queen of your madness,

Set upon an unholy pedestal to save you from the endless boredom and dissatisfaction of your former life.

Yet when it came to pass I could not save you from your abyss,

So enshrined in unhappiness and consumed by emptiness,

My self proclaimed King found his excuse to cut my bleeding heart from my chest,

As Henry had Anne’s head from her body.

You mocked me for my bleeding heart,

You tore,

Shred and cut it away like a child would coloured paper.

Now I’m left to wonder,

How will you fare old King,

Now that the bleeding has stopped?