the hopeless and the lovelorn claim to know all the names
of heartache; it stands--but barely--a castle of destitution
upon a hill, wrought with artifice,
and shivering with longing. heartache
has eyes, eyes that glint in what some say
is malevolence, but i say it is a glint
that burns brighter than steel kissing eyes in sunlight.
heartache is sometimes mellow, its hands coxcombs,
digging deep into the earth of its cold, writhing body--
heartache quakes with the cries of people
it will never know, yet always know,
and heartache cries.
steel kissing eyes in sunlight--
i am hopeless and lovelorn, and i claimed to know
all the names of heartache, once upon a time;
i did not see it as a palace
with golden turrets, or a moor wrapping the lost lover
in a silken embrace. some nights, heartache was a bloodhound
that foamed wine in half-fermentation from the mouth and bit
into the world's shackles so deep that bells clattered
against the pavement of the world's head.
heartache does not need lovers. there is no river
running towards it, and i have never been in the kind of love
that the names of heartache demand. but when night
has fallen, cut the cords of day so that the sun--
heaving--falls upon the earth, i feel
as though something inside me has been cut, too.
i am choking on toomuchfeeling
and toolittlelove and toomuchhelplessness.
the world is slipping down my ankles
and i cannot catch it with my toes.
i am a hoax-winter, and the icebergs in my eyes
do not look to soon be melting;
our eyes do not look to soon be melting. our arteries
are frigid, and cold, and we cannot blame the sun
for making rivers run red.
heartache lives in a world where we must pat sawdust on our tears
to keep them from showing,
and where we must clink glassfuls of diamonds to keep
the shame from pouring through--
it is pitiful, and sometimes, i feel
it is deluded, and sometimes, i feel
it is a mindless claim, to know heartache's names.
it stands on a hill, wrought in artifice:
we have given these names to heartache.
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140,885 Literary Works • 673,697 Reviews
This Is an amazing piece of literature...
The Way the narrator twist words and show a new way to an old idea is great, indeed I believe heartache can be nothing but just that. ACHE
And I think this poem shows that perfectly, heartache is wrought in artifice- perfect way to show that you believe it is not as it is seen.
Great work, keep writing.
#TRIGGERED
The way you put this together just makes it all kind of flow together more seamlessly, though I have to say when I first read "toomuchfeeling" I thought it was a typo. Of course, then I realized that it added to the air that you so eloquently crafted around your writing, and I really have to comment you on it. The structure of your poem is unique, utterly enrapturing, and truly a good read. You have my utmost respect, and please, please please keep up the fantastic work 
I know I'm looking forwards to reading more of your work in the future, and I think I'll definitely be pointing a few people in your direction 
Cheers!
I'm only joking, Chilow here for le review, pardon my trashiness xD
Much as RedRose8 said, those few lines just make me and I'm sure other readers want to just hug you or whoever this was written for/ about and just feel better. Poems like this are a mixed bag for me, because while I know that they have to be pretty incredible to make me tear up, I hate them for making me tear up. Does that make sense?
All jokes aside though, really, poetry like this is too unfortunately few and far between, and I'm glad that I found this to read
[Snaps]
“I am choking on too much feeling and too little love and too much helplessness”
This makes me want to stretch out my arms to you, to wrap you in a cocoon of familiarity, tranquility that can only be heard by those with screaming hearts. This feeling makes me not want to love, but then again…do you know that you’re really in love if you don’t feel with this depth of intensity? Love is a ledge at the edge of the world. Its beauty calls us like a siren, but its headache inevitable, and yes, it truly DOES have many names.