I try to mend what was broken
But these hands have failed before,
The callouses cover scars and lore,
Of a heart that once was stolen.
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My breath, it holds no air
I find myself never refreshed,
It’s stagnant in my lungs so meshed,
Life, I’ve learned, is never fair.
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Perpetuating this cadaverous lie,
Lingering in the depths of my thoughts,
It opens up past wounds and wrought
The stitching from healing so fine.
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The Creation of that emotion
Causes such an anguished feel,
That one may think it’s falsely real,
Never the less, to cause comotion.
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To think of such so frequently
The time it consumes is dreary,
Its gloom and doom make weary,
The traveler wondering aimlessly.
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Think of me as a faded epitaph
Eroded with wind and sand,
A mourner, hat in hand,
Passes me like the black cat.
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It goes to show what lies in reason
Of what I am now consisting,
Of thoughts I’m now resisting,
And to you, my heart is treason.