heartbroken again

She lies upon the sofa,

limbs heavy as stone,

her face pressed into the worn fabric,

soaking it with salt and grief.

 

The room is still but for the sound of her sobs,

a fragile rhythm of heartbreak

echoing louder than any clock upon the wall.

 

Her hair spills like a dark river across the cushions,

her shoulders quake beneath the weight of memories,

and her hands clutch at nothing—

for all she held has slipped away again.

 

Once more, love has left her hollow,

and in the quiet aftermath,

the sofa becomes her refuge,

her battlefield,

her altar of sorrow.

Done