Running out on you, running out on us,
Hard to believe what it’s like to be without a heart.
But what gives, love or lesser things (aren’t they all?)?
The beginning of isolation is often warm and fuzzy.
I didn’t hurt you, at least that’s what I’ve been saying,
To myself, my self and those who care to listen.
But I don’t feel whole: something that beats is missing,
I’m the one hurting, instead of you, the one beaten.
Who will I call? No one really picks up these days.
No words, silence screamed at me in a million other ways.
There’s nothing on the other end, a lot in-between,
Darkness, and the fear of a spirit standing in its own ruins.
Wait while I learn to breathe again. No, too much pain,
I’ve been drowning in stale air, my lungs don’t belong.
A shadow shadows my shadow at night, trolling me,
It’s regret, that haunting by the things that won’t be.