Clutching fists fill the void in my chest.
There was love there.
There was happiness and memories of beauty.
The knife has long since removed my heart.
Burning tears, trails of red mark my tormented cheeks.
There was warmth there.
There was a sense of purpose and belonging.
The bloodied hands no longer pull at my flesh.
Broken dreams, voided history suffocates my soul.
There was a bond once.
There were two shared lives living as one.
The memories of your last words pry continuous at this open wound.
Death of my stolen heart lives forever in memory.
When the walls of self acceptance are crushed within our own hands,