The panic sets in

As the count winds down
On those who’ll stick
Through thick and thin

They tell me that bloods thicker
But the waters my friend

Let them bang the gavel
Hang the noose
I’ve nothing left to defend

I am broken
I've finally snapped
What was holding me together
Is almost gone
Though I thought it may stick forever
I am broken
I feel the pain
My past thoughts have become vain
The way I feel, is considered
Inconsiderate
The way I act, is that of a broken man
This was not my plan
To be in agony
I don't want to deal with it angrily
I feel trapped by the gravity
In this hell ridden galaxy
I start to see the vanity
Of this reality
My anger and insanity
My depression and my humanity
It's all been revealed
I may never be healed
I am broken
My words are now outspoken.

I'm tired of love poems,
they stay behind
like stains of blood
after a ******.

It's all so strange to read them
after their inspiration is gone.
What are you supposed to do with them?
There's no place they belong to
after their inspiration is gone.
How are you supposed to move on from them?
Everything you write is about the time
after their inspiration is gone.

Are those tears in my pillow really mine?
or are they something I wrote before?
Can I say I'm truly in love?
or am I trying to burn my old love poems away?

The poems sit in a corner of my room
and my girlfriend can see them when we make love.
Is she thinking the same as I do?
I'm so afraid she does,
I'm so afraid she might go away
and leave me behind with nothing
but stains of love poems
on the floor.