The equation goes like this you need an event, a casualty or a person in your life who will become responsible for crushing that fist sized throbbing organ in your chest. Well thats how it is supposed to be, but then there is us too. Our kind, mess up this equation. No disaster strikes. No angel turns into Lucifer. Yet "we" end up breaking our hearts. "We" watch as its torn, stabbed, diced! Into tiny miniscule pieces like a poor chicken at the mercy of a butcher.
JAB! PIERCE! STAB! CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!
Ah the Pain! At each slash it is hellish to breath. An invisible burden pressing down making it strenuous to even take a sniff of oxygen.
Only when there is no one to save us, we break our hearts.
YOU ARE READING
Figment of imagination.
Non-Fictionimpulsive. no punctuations. full of errors. complete waste of time
