Heart of Enamel

Desire

Monday, September 28, 2026

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My heart has soured into enamel

Of brittle and lacquer it now bleeds,

Coaxed into the vice-grip of a trammel—

If I could but parse out my needs

Then God might steer while I might row,

But I have neither faith nor zeal still in tow.

My actions have become mechanical,

Where my heart is an exhaust

And my passions demand an onerous cost;

My dreams were once real and tyrannical,

But I am nothing more than a machine...

Perhaps a writhing one who may still stand

As a shadow, a veneer, a ghost of a man,

Who only ever wanted to be seen.

I had longed for a wife,

I had dreamed to be a father,

True and exacting these were on my life!

Yet still they've forsaken me short of a bother.

Though gentle and delicate my desires once were,

Nothing and no one I now prefer;

Staved off hunger lies in their stead,

Despite that I gnaw for a bit to be led.

I hate the pursuit,

I have a distaste for obligation,

I am afraid my heart is a worn-out old cog,

In an engine of the destitute—

Doubtful it is I'll free you from the smog,

Of lust and passion and skin and nerves,

Since all you are now is an infatuation,

Even when I know the love you deserve.