Where does it go when it dies?
When everything I had felt for you
fractures, splinters, and burns to ash?
What happens to the memories that turn
painful and bittersweet
and the remnants of the love
I once had for you?

Is it there where I buried the fractured
piece of my heart where your name
had once been carved,
scarring the tissue for eternity?
Is it a place of wistful visitations
where red chrysanthemums wither
and where I leave a bouquet of
purple hyacinth, red adonis, and yellow carnations?
Or does it leave an empty grave
of regret and pain?
Are full graves only for loves
that overcome death and
covered in dark crimson roses?

Does it have its own soul
with a place to rest
in an afterlife of tenderness
and memories?
A cruelty to be sure
for my heart will not know
such forgiveness and be tormented
by beloved memories now empty
of any love or tenderness.

Where does love go when it dies?
Does it even go anywhere
or does it linger,
turning the room cold –
raising goosebumps on my skin
and puling at out-of-tune heartstrings
that just can’t seem to get over you.
if love should die,
if you should leave me here bleeding
then please, take the love I felt with you.
I’d rather feel nothing then be broken.