There was something so right with the ululating country sound coming from the jukebox as she kept her swaying friend upright in the tiny bar.
Another broken heart overtaken by the rush of loneliness; an island submerged and subdued by the wave; a shirt soaked with the night’s pleasantries... and she fighting the battle against gravity.
Who hasn’t been lured by the liquid siren?
It can happen so easily: breaking a heart. It can happen so silently: a needle falling on the chapel floor - no one looks up. And one, two, three a spell is cast and the broken heart suffers from amnesia, anemia, anorexia...Words like joy, content, peace and happiness are just a collection of characters from the alphabet. And sleep becomes the escape into the mute abyss.
The heart becomes a lump of flesh. Then the siren calls and she dives into the liquid pleasure. A heart drifting in the ocean of wine, and it recognises the night, faintly does it remember this thing - feeling. What kind of feeling? A heart engulfed, and it plays along. I like this feeling. Heartbeats thump louder and louder like a beating drum.
Suddenly that siren spits out the heart and the friend awakes to a swaying reality, a bitter reality. Gall. Nothing you say will penetrate, so you just try to prevent the gall from sticking in her hair; you wipe her wet face with an old tissue, your only tissue. You tell her it will be all right, you pray for her a good night. She drifts off before the last word of your lullaby. The next day her heart is blind again, deaf again, mute - it plays pretend, like it can’t remember.
Do broken hearts mend? Yes, but spells cannot be broken by the siren’s gall. You need something stronger, someone stronger. But first, you need to believe they can be broken. Any heart can awake from a restless coma.
Do I believe she will mend her bleeding heart and fall in love again? Yes. Where there’s blood, there’s life. Do I believe that love would want to live in a heart like mine? Oh, yes.
Another broken heart overtaken by the rush of loneliness; an island submerged and subdued by the wave; a shirt soaked with the night’s pleasantries... and she fighting the battle against gravity.
Who hasn’t been lured by the liquid siren?
It can happen so easily: breaking a heart. It can happen so silently: a needle falling on the chapel floor - no one looks up. And one, two, three a spell is cast and the broken heart suffers from amnesia, anemia, anorexia...Words like joy, content, peace and happiness are just a collection of characters from the alphabet. And sleep becomes the escape into the mute abyss.
The heart becomes a lump of flesh. Then the siren calls and she dives into the liquid pleasure. A heart drifting in the ocean of wine, and it recognises the night, faintly does it remember this thing - feeling. What kind of feeling? A heart engulfed, and it plays along. I like this feeling. Heartbeats thump louder and louder like a beating drum.
Suddenly that siren spits out the heart and the friend awakes to a swaying reality, a bitter reality. Gall. Nothing you say will penetrate, so you just try to prevent the gall from sticking in her hair; you wipe her wet face with an old tissue, your only tissue. You tell her it will be all right, you pray for her a good night. She drifts off before the last word of your lullaby. The next day her heart is blind again, deaf again, mute - it plays pretend, like it can’t remember.
Do broken hearts mend? Yes, but spells cannot be broken by the siren’s gall. You need something stronger, someone stronger. But first, you need to believe they can be broken. Any heart can awake from a restless coma.
Do I believe she will mend her bleeding heart and fall in love again? Yes. Where there’s blood, there’s life. Do I believe that love would want to live in a heart like mine? Oh, yes.
