The escape into this mundane world is the corrosive scars that are on my heart. To tear them off is less torturous than to ever hear you say “I love you” to me again. Each word you speak is saved in my hollow soul. Nothing is left for you, not even a blissful thought, for everything you did to me has put me in this grave. With a smile and dirt in your teeth, you dug me deeper into a hole you knew I would never climb out of. The author of my heart is a deviant being that no longer allows me to breathe or pump life through my veins to keep me living. Everything within me is dead, black, and this should have been a sign for you to never come back.
A Crushed Soul 