No Visitors

Perhaps my heart was more of a museum,

All varieties of emotions together on display.

Opened only during the night with no visitors…

With fetching exhibitions collected during the day.

Walls often describing vibrant hallucinations,

As if intending to mirror my whereabouts.

Mannequins talking to me with their silence,

They make my heart candid for feelings profound.

For my eyes to speak, the magic is univocal,

Creating illusions of memory resting in black.

Ravishing landscapes of the ancient roots,

Have deepened causing my heart to crack.