She went to the place
Where she doesn't exist
So his voice couldn't reach
Into the deep, dark abyss
So she lay in the dark
Trying hard not to feel
The pain that was roiling
It all seemed too real
How can she get better
Climb from this place
Empty the dark inside
Re-construct her face
Can't he see what he did
He broke her apart
Forced her to fall
And live in the dark
She feels all the pain
All the hurt and the stress
It's all way too much
Just one giant mess
So she goes to the place
Where she doesn't exist
And his voice doesn't reach
Into the deep, dark abyss

Let the poets write with fractured wrists
And bleeding fingers
Let them utter through broken lungs
And splintered tongues
About a lover they once had
And how they tossed their voice in the ocean
Because of misplaced devotion
Let the poets sever the silence
That spills from the sheets you lay upon
Where passion is long gone
Now you're wondering if this constitutes as love
But you've merely forgotten that his skin
Is a pretty cover for the bones that rot within
*Let the poets love you
Agonisingly sweetly
But never as discreetly