I walk alone,
Turning aimlessly left and right,
Feeling the cold from the rain seep through to my dismal heart.

Hot tears stream down my grief stricken face,
Contorting in and out of melancholy shapes,
Allowing my pitiful sobs to seep out.

My chest is tight with my broken heart,
Burning with every shaky breathe taken,
Surprisingly resisting the urge to cave in all together.

The world is bland,
Every color seems to have faded to shades of black and grey,
Doleful rain falling aimlessly to the ground.

Cheerful people sing in the rain,
Dance through the streets,
Jump in the forming puddles.

But me?

I walk on,
Sensing the cold swishing of my feet in my soaking shoes,
Craving to be unnoticed and left with my dismal heart.

There will be many, who only make
You weak and feeling sore.
There will be those who only take,
And those You get Your heart torn for.
There will be them, who know too well,
What makes you the most dismal.
They will be pushing on those nerves,
You'll feel the scars in an instant.

Yet, there only will be few,
Who will make Your heart sing,
Who will make Your heart listen.
Who will make Your eyes sparkle,
Who will make Your eyes glisten.
To them- you must be true.