Briar hearts

The fragile frail breaks of hearts,
like leaves on autumn ground,

A stillness to the silence,
when they cease to beat or pound,

The little brittle hearts,
that grew from teary brine,

Holding pains within their roots,
that bleed out to the vine,

They held impassioned fires,
that would consume and burn them out,

Now mere shadows of their former selves,
a mess of scars and doubt,

Former floweret so picturesque,
now just a hollow empty rind,

Each once bore fruit of a dream,
that fate sought fit to decline,

It didn't happen all at once,
slowly over time the hope had wilted,

With each lie and misplaced trust,
from each soul by whom they were jilted,

Yet let not your own growth cease,
or emotions turn to stone,

Whether you rend the heart of another,
or are trying to mend your own,

We are each monsters,
with chaos, fangs, and claws,

Nurturing our traumatized hearts,
bursting with perfect flaws,

If you ever feel all is lost,
and your spirit hangs by a string,

I warn you do not spurn your blossoms husk,
For it will bloom again come spring.