Soliloquy 2

split, split my heart
and, cloven, be made whole.
for what is there left in singularity
that tempts me to endure?
why, if not to stand alone and proud
then to stand lonely and bereft.
I would for a day less lonesome
split my heart to the base
and scatter the pieces upon the wind
that they may be blown to warmer lands
if not to split then to stick in my breast,
a rotten swallowed morsel, half chewed
to be spat out upon the freezing ground.
No such end for such a noble organ.
No, better be halved and nourished
than whole and starving
for there never was a happy heart
made so by a false start