Something beFit of Life; Hidden Praise

I imagine her heart.
I imagine the break,
that began to start,
when she fell apart.

The swollen tears,
in her creators eyes,
they dropped on her blankets,
covered in cries.

I hate the echo,
the ruptured vault,
a sad insinuity,
of the broken halt.

It was always a halt,
a dead blank stare,
she use to give into,
before she had her affair.

Life was like an ailment,
a stalwort broken tube,
an emotion tied victory,
a sadness of the stew.

time of hers,
her very own,
this child young,
would 9 months groan.

I imagine her cries,
as sadness bedside,
slowly died.

I, too, begin to see,
the boy by her side,
began to be,
a broken one; whom cried.

So, I, too, begin to wonder,
as to why this life,
is so deep in plunder.
and as to why there exists: Strife.

Peace is so calm,
but when canon plays,
I forget myself,
and go to that certain malaise.

Childhood Days.
Graduation Craze.
Sadness Malaise.
Broken Stays.

Hidden Praise.