WHEN THE FLOOD COMES

I held my heart with my trembling hands.

The crimson organ dripping with blood,

Marring the cragged ground.

It was staring back at me,

As if in judgmental incredulity.

You turned your back and walked away.

My gaze did not unglue from its rounded form,

As in a trance.

What once were droplets became a flood

Of red rage right before my feet.

Its very own essence vanished as it collapsed,

Becoming one with the Earth.

Solely leaving me with a hollow in my chest.

I lift my head to stare at the now distant figure.

The next thing I lost was myself.

How can someone tarnish one's heart and soul

So effortlessly that no echoes or shattering sounds can be heard?