Heart lines

The heart has corners, yes, it does
wherein to stuff the lies and such
but there are no bars and wrought iron gates
to prevent their daily walk-abouts.

They meander in my forest, glens,
to taint the beautiful
and touch upon my friendly tears
to turn them into angry ones.

They even pull on strands of hair
and the pain bursts full and free
in a head that once thought love
above/beyond all things.

So I took a scalpel, yes, I did
in hands that knew to scrape and smooth
the heart into a perfect line
like that between the soul and mind.

There is no tool to bend and swirl
what’s come to pass to how it was
and of a heart now in a line
it remains until my sure demise.

It’s in the stars or in the palm
that heart lines must eventually be
a slip and slide for lies and such
so they can’t attack en masse!