• I had never seen a heart fall so far,
    until I looked at my own,
    and stared down at my chest,
    watched as the gaping whole was torn,
    and scattered into the sky,
    to let those who hadn't felt feel happiness.
    The lips upon which I lay are scarred,
    with the fate they've wrought for themselves,
    sowed shut to bind the selfish ambition outside,
    black light hearts reveal only the pure,
    and the innocents are left to be mocked.
    The things I have stolen,
    leave me missing the things I lost,
    the man I've tried to change,
    is still a boy who is leaving a trail.
    Bread crumbs burn to ash,
    as the line of failure lengthens,
    and while mistakes continue to turn,
    an old man is seen is the distance.
    He is alone,
    surrounded by pleasantries,
    except for the one he seeks most,
    a significance only placed by hands,
    in a shape of distinguishable pieces,
    hands cupped together,
    with no space between for the air to flow,
    constricted by loss of breath,
    the man dies with hands clasped tightly to one another behind his back to numb the pain.