Broken-Hearted

You say things that make me question myself.

It gets me asking if I belong in Hell; Things that I refuse to address.

You casually bring those long forgotten concerns back to the surface.

You suggest things that I wouldn’t normally want to hear; And you do things I simply don’t want to believe.

And, of course, you smile in a way while you do it all that I – I cannot breathe.

Why I have so much stock in you – could I ever really know?

Regardless of the reason why, I feel as though…

It will always be painful to watch you go.

 

When you take that step in the opposite direction I realize that I am alone with my thoughts;

Thoughts that you have sown unintentionally into my head.

Tomorrow I will likely wake weaker than today – but I won’t let a single soul know.

I will never let on to anyone that I have changed – not even you.

Easy and helpless as it was – I can’t say that I’m sad that it’s begun.

I feel more awake than I have in years; and while awake I am without my deepest fears.

 

These truths that once crippled me are things I now foster happily.

Of course, I have to do this all so carefully and quietly – without any speculating eye.

My silent wishes cannot ever be spoken because all that I know can be broken.

I would rather suffer a lifetime of fruitless daydreams,

And never once taste the true motivation behind the things you ask me.

This life is not as bad as never knowing the reason behind your hard questions.

I can’t begin to know or pretend to know – there is no way I can even so much as guess.

 

Do these same curiosities also sneak through your head?

 

There is so much that we both leave unsaid.

Maybe we are ruining something perfect before it begins,

Or maybe I am creating a fake possibility in the recesses of my mind.

Just dreaming as though I were asleep hoping for a life that could never be mine.

 

I’ll write these words and consider myself mental, consider myself pathetic;

I’ll consider myself heartless and worthless; knowing the eyes that matter will never read it.

 

Maybe if I write enough lines of this ridiculous poem I’ll forget why I started.

Maybe I’ll forget that you reminded me that this isn’t love…

 

…This is broken-hearted.