Your heart is a barren wasteland.

It’s where dreams go to die
and hopes that have a masochist side to them
hang around your mind
waiting to be strangled
while you polish your tools
try to choose
between condescension,
cynicism and the old faithful – indifference.

You must be a collector.

A connoisseur of dampened aspiration
Purveyor of wounded emotion
and a curator of broken hearts
Not well preserved,
that might make them heal
and whole again
but lying scattered
and tattered in pungent disarray.

You can add mine to the gallery now.

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