• They say that eyes are windows,
    Windows to the soul,
    But his are dark and empty,
    His heart a lump of coal.

    This heart of his,
    This wasted lump of coal,
    A sweet hatred that is,
    Is no longer whole.

    He is dark and I am light.
    We contrast in every way.
    My world is in a constant fight,
    Which rises every new day.

    It is moments like this that I dare hope,
    Perhaps even a creature like he,
    As dark and as empty as he may be,
    Could ever love a fair angel like me.

    He is what I am not,
    Cold, dark, empty,
    And careless at thought.
    He even hates love openly.

    He breaks my heart,
    No one hears my screams.
    Words penetrate like a searing dart,
    As I lie there lost in my dreams.

    My world around me crumbles,
    And I lose my grip and fall.
    Every step I take my body stumbles,
    I begin to cry and feel so small.

    How can I love,
    When what I love does not love back,
    And hates love?
    Perhaps love is the one quality he does lack.

    I know a heart lies below,
    For at every sight of me,
    His face is aglow,
    But my heart pays that small fee.

    A new world is dawning,
    And I lay on the brink of extinction.
    I hate to say it but I’m fawning.
    Love is fiction.

    I waste away,
    Swallowed whole by a useless drain.
    I long for change each day,
    And am followed by my endless pain.

    My heart is bleeding,
    And is crippled by pain.
    My eyes are pleading,
    As tears fall from my cheeks like rain.

    He is dark and I am light.
    We contrast in every way.
    My world is in a constant fight,
    Which rises every new day.

    Perhaps even a creature like he,
    Loves a fair angel,
    Me.