I lie Broken on my bed,
With Nothing else to say.
Because my Heart is Dead,
And my soul has gone away.
I used to keep all my poems about you under my rug,
But now there's Nothing left for me to hold onto.
Not a smile, Not a kiss, Not a warm hug,
Not even a single letter from you.
So now all I'm clutching in my shaking hands,
Are all the poems about my feelings.
But I casted them into the twirling fan,
And now my feelings are scattered among my ceiling.
And now I'm just sitting Alone in the Dark,
Writing one last poem about you.
And as I scribble these final words about how you've left you're mark,
I know secretly that I'll shove this last poem under my rug, too
