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I buried my heart in a pot of gold

It lay there all gushing and warm,

I locked it tight and looked back once

At its beating form.


I hide the key in my folds

Sorted my alarm,

My soul turned blue and cold

But there was no more harm.


No pain would touch my heart here

No infliction with burning passion,

No wild love would haunt its depths

No plans of crazy fashion.


True, it would suffocate in there

But what a lovely trinket it would make,

this is proper (I was told)

for my sanity’s sake.


Here it was safe

From love’s sharp claws,

It would pine, but live

disciplined by stringent laws.


No aches in this pot

Just the endless numb,

It would weep at first for me

And later succumb.


To the endless silence

For that served it good,

A hellion it had been

misbehaved and misunderstood.


The pot will turn it into a stone

And the blood within to rust

The ego will smirk with victory

As one more bites dust.


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