safe

where 

in a broken heart 

does hope 

ever live?

tucked in a corner 

or nestled 

hidden

deep beneath

the shattered pieces?

can the weight 

that crushes my chest 

and forces the air 

to vacate 

my lungs

also expel the hope 

from that 

very 

same 

heart?

and if you 

were to ever ask me 

how I am 

how would I know 

which response to give?

the canned response, 

spoken 

with a brave smile

that you’ll hardly notice

never reaches 

my eyes:

that I am hanging 

right 

on 

in there?

or the real answer,

wrenched

from the crushing numbness 

that has filled me

for so many years:

that I am hanging 

by 

a thread?

that I am pushing the pain 

down to a depth 

where I can no longer reach it 

or rather

where it 

can’t reach me?

because the truth 

still 

hasn’t 

changed:

if I have to face 

even a single day more 

engulfed in these flames 

then the fight 

that I once had inside 

will already be lost -

and I 

will 

succumb:

nothing but smoke 

and ashes 

and emptiness 

where hope used to live 

inside 

my 

shattered 

heart.