My neighbour is heartbroken. She had her heart torn into pieces by a poet,a writer, a painter and a singer. Her silent cries are thought to be hidden through her thick walls. But I hear them. She spends her nights screaming and rummaging the pain silently away. But loud enough for me. I hear her sharp razor tickle through her skin creating a flawless crisscross pattern. I see the blood explode from her vein running down her no longer smooth skin dripping on the tiles forming a puddle. I hear the loud crack from her throat that shows me the tears that desperately escapes from her eyes,running down her cheeks searching for a way out. She covers her mouth,closes her eyes and huddles, hoping she's tricking her heart to believe she's being cuddled, But her mind and I know what's real. Her blood's escaping vigorously, Her hearts beating ferociously, Her mind is wandering off into darkness tremendously. My neighbour is heartbroken and I don't know what to do. I cannot save her. She believes that I am like him. Because I am a poet.