I walk around heartbroken most of the time.
A sticky glob of pitch resting in my chest,
warm enough to slowly spread,
but cooling fast and cementing.

Everyone seems to walk around so smoothly,
and it hurts to know most of them feel the same.
But,
they're silent like me,
and I'm silent like them,
and we all walk around with big, dumb smiles on our faces.

My heartache will **** me one day,
and I've accepted that fact.
Love of any kind is not guaranteed or owed
and even if you die surrounded by loved ones,
you still end up dying
alone.