rigor mortis ( when love dies)

Ripped from an already wounded chest, the inflamed heart slowly stops pulsing until that irreparably injured, isolated part stops functioning and becomes a red useless blob on mendacity's grimy floor.Gullibility intertwined with maternal hope had kept the tenuous life support machine from flat lining, long after the umbilical cord was decimated.Now the slim thread ,chewed through by insidious maliciousness and no longer aided by mitigating circumstances, lies on the maggot infested ground of delusion.Dried up tear ducts and furrowed frown lines of despair mingle to mourn the regretful, premature demise. Undeniably subsumed and subordinated, the elusive happiness of possibility and redemption lay fallow on the larger wasteland, several of Inferno's rings on hideous display,and a dirge plays woefully in the distance. Involuntary twitching - for what might have been - in concert with lamentation scream the unsatisfactory epitaph of the untenable blood loss. Brain dead before the pulse abated; nothing worked. "It's never too late" were the last misleading words heard before the imminent rigor mortis' arrival.