Image by Danny Caramete

A locked door isn’t just a locked door; it’s another way of saying, “leave me alone.”

There’s a kind of sadness you can get addicted to.

The kind that slowly caresses your heart, spreading through your veins and killing you softly

It’s a good kind of bad feeling

More of an acquired taste, I’m told

It grows on your heart like a toxic mould bred from a life dampened with tears falling unto a pillow as silent screams echo through the dark, empty hallways of a lonely heart

It grows, spreads, breeds

Feeding on blood bled from the bleeding parts of broken hearts which no stitch from any surgeon or operation forgone proved successful

As gores soak up regret leaking from past mistakes… because a heart that breaks stays as broken as the words we speak stay spoken.


So as the days grow longer and the nights grow colder, the battle rages on as the heart grows old enough to retire but not serving long enough to receive a pension

She leaves bereft of attention, she remembers him making mention of a convenient way to love with a broken heart

So body young enough to fight for it but the heart too weak to nurture love, she abandoned the battle

Like a king without a crown, like a bride without a gown, she exits the ring… leaving an undeserved belt behind as he dealt the knockout punch shattering the glass cage which held the pieces of her broken heart, she realised she couldn’t find it in her heart to bear the title of a “wife” as she found she had no heart for him to find


The once empty cage, now shards as the shattered glass slices through her skin while she tries to search within for more than just memories coloured with blood and tainted with tears.

She searches for something she can’t find in a place that will only remind her that she failed, that her heart is a failure

That every cut and every bruise she was dealt was a well-deserved reward for a failing heart. That she was lucky her cardiac was not arrested for transgressing, and the death sentence was a just penalty…so she decides to stay at home.

You can’t hurt someone else when you’re on your own… so the best remedy for living without a heart is to live alone. Building walls high up and a gate made of steel to prevent anyone her body would appeal to from coming in, to hear the silent screams echo through the dark hallways of a lonely heart as she watches the mould growing and spreading, dreading the day she hears another voice say those three words, “I love you…”

Excerpt From: Okoye, Xyvah. “Zayin.” iBooks. 


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