You say men don't get lonely.
You claim men don't love.
You point to me and snarl,
"men don't care, you just don't care."
Then why does my heart
(That once held harmony
with your own pulse)
flutter near death?
Why are you all I think about?
Why does agony course through me?
Why do I lust for it?
Because I miss you!
Your words mock me;
mocking me because I'm a man
who is lonely
who is in love
and cares so much that
I treasure my broken heart.
After all, every shatterling
bears your autograph.
You chose another man
for a few morsels of
forbidden fruit,
and shout at me
as though it were my fault.
So,
keep mocking me,
claiming men don't love, hurt,
or break.
Listen to your own words,
and know why now it's true of me.