You don't know it,
Sometimes, I reach for my personal
with hopes of writing a truth
for the broken heart's mask of
false smiles and lying indifference.
It is here, within this vulnerability,
I see an eye full of my own sorrow,
and a suffer that fills my chest
with the emptiness between blank
Should you now,
personify this image within the
sympathy of your thoughts...
Or find empathy inside these
At best, you shall know a
mere whisper of the agony
your absence brings to me.
As this is an ache so arduous,
so surreal, so unbearably abysmal,
that even eternity
lacks time enough to heal.