I force myself to love you less, the hurt is still too young,
So I watch it from afar, untangling my heart from whence it clung.
The pit of my stomach is bottomless, always the sense of falling,
The torrential waves of pain and emotion, it leaves me crawling.
I know the past is where it belongs, but I'm not sure that I am,
My present I would give, were it not already a futile sham.
The mind is made up, and bridges are burning,
But this does nothing more than set the world turning.
Time moves on, with or without,
But leaves behind a sense of doubt.
Can it really be so traumatic?
Or am I a victim of my own static?
It may not be fair, it may not be wise,
But I suffer in quiet, contained in the eyes.
Standing atop my world, I try to look down,
Only to find, I still on the ground.
Salvation seems out of reach, the wind tells me so,
My tears taste so bitter, like I already know.
You are gone, and a piece of me mourns,
A rose, devoid of petals, remains but a thorn.
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