What happens when you break the heart of a poet?

Morsels of silver lined soul 
   flesh perfect to devour 
      a potential to level up 
 pain brings with it a new lens 
  endurance, resilience, and just enough fear 
     to keep one brave 

Poets are creatures, chimeras really 
   we can envision worlds 
         in picoseconds 
and comprehend balance 
sadness renders, not in the capacity 
   one would contemplate
      knots tied together 
 utterly severed 
     in lieu of knots 
       the ends frayed 
  there was no communion 
     or reconciliation 
   simply thin strands 
      that could never really 
           be mended

  Souls are so special 
    when one is intentionally maimed
 intent is questions, indecision
   offers nothing of solace 

The creature of the hour you may 
    ask? Why, it’s crickets of course. 

     The most MASSIVE kiss of death 
  one that marinated on thoughts 
      of consequence 

    Silence is the TRUEST kiss of death 
the Venetian Masque silently weeps
   boredom ensues — reality 
      a puzzle piece that once fit 
  broken and bruised 
        barely able to fit