My Dark Heart

My heart is like an attic, full of cobwebs and dust. Where memories are packed away, in boxes, and time lingers like the familiar scents of mildew and must. I keep them hidden away, although I don't want to see them anymore- They are proof that I survived many battles, and the reason this old heart's still sore. My purple hearts all tucked away, for those stories I don't like to tell- I relive those battles daily, and even though I survived them, I still walk through hell. Some day when I'm dead and gone, they'll be archived for all to see. And after the sift and search through all the boxes, I wonder what they'll think of me? Was I a valiant hero, brave? Or had I lost my marbles? Or will they be saddened that I'd lived with so much pain- And that I slowly drown in my own sorrows? Even those who knew me well, weren't aware of half the hell, that my poor heart has with stood, And I hope they torch those boxes after they find out my truths-- And erase my suffering from history, for good...