The emptiness, that fills
The hollow cavity, where
A heart should beat.
Where blood would go
Now, nothing flows.
What is there, that is meant to be?

Of the things kept inside,
And all the pain I've tried to hide.
Turned outside, onto the world,
Wherein the soul reside.
Spilled, to the ground
The collapse, of all that surrounds.
Careening down,
The end of a life.

Our love,
Are our hearts
Just written in the sand?
To be washed away with the tide.
Or will it withstand?
The test of time.

I don't stop
Crying, when others
Enter the room.
I just cry quietly
Or laspe into
A silent weeping.

Staring from the mirror back,
The complex past, displeasurable fact
But things I no longer think to change.
Accepting, trying to mend the pain,
The exception, that I'm still hurting;
The source, still of that same vein.

All those days, like a dunce
Sitting in the parking lot
Of her university.
A heart she never sees

Things unraveling, with no reason.
Hurt people, Hurt people;
Should I let this heart atrophy?
Or let misanthropy and apathy consume it?
Any naive notion disabused
Like love
Advantage, to you
All used

Some is too little,
And more is never enough.
Your chalice spill, an overflowing cup,
You would still moan
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