The pit that appears covered travels deepest to the core

The pit that I feel which lies far under the smoke-spitting pipes of my lungs

The pit that I feel which even hides beneath the jet-black odious chambers of my heart

The pit that shelters moss on its shadowy walls grows around these visible ribs, and it's suffocating me

The pit that bores warning signs for hunters and hikers alike, for no one must reach it's internal sanctuary of melancholy

The pit of your most sinister creation, the pit you spent years piling with leaves so I could not even recognize it

Until with one swift goodbye, the wind in that word brushed this mirage of love and support aside to reveal a pit that has grown so large that it echoes my cries

Only so they can replay like the rain, only so I can listen to them every single night before my eyes finally give way to slumber

So with the coming of April, I pray the trees recover their lost leaves, so I can do my best to shield this throbbing scar of solemn sorrow

Yet, I must remain alone, for I don't have the audacity to lead someone into this pit of desolation where it is impossible for me to love them, such as you replaced your pit with mine