birgitta_nell@y
04-19-2008, 03:43 PM
I know this is usually a typical sop-story type thing, but I though I would post it anyway!
Heartache
Heartache is a curse:
It is a disease contracted
When you find out that,
In the eyes of the person who means the world to you,
You mean nothing.
When a heart is damaged,
Each breath you take seems stifled;
Your lungs feel cramped and claustrophobic,
And each beat in your chest stings,
And cries out loud,
At the agony it is suffering, in silence.
Heartache is painful:
Knots form in your throat whenever you recall it;
And with each second your body recoils,
At the torture of the inner pain.
Like a slow and drawn out death,
You linger on while your soul withers,
And lonely days stretch into eternities
Of unutterable sorrow.
Oh, why do we love,
When a shattered heart is the only result?
Why do we allow ourselves to fall,
When we will only be smashed up in the end,
And end up lonely and hurt?
What insanity drives us to love,
And then laughs at our despair in the aftermath?
Yet, how can we not love?
A life without affection in empty
And hollow, and pointless.
Love is the colour we add to our grey days
And the reminder of life beating
Within our bodies.
Eventually heartache will leave,
And we will love again.
And somehow, in some way
We will carry on, beyond what we can see now,
Beyond the heartache of the moment
We will fly.
Heartache
Heartache is a curse:
It is a disease contracted
When you find out that,
In the eyes of the person who means the world to you,
You mean nothing.
When a heart is damaged,
Each breath you take seems stifled;
Your lungs feel cramped and claustrophobic,
And each beat in your chest stings,
And cries out loud,
At the agony it is suffering, in silence.
Heartache is painful:
Knots form in your throat whenever you recall it;
And with each second your body recoils,
At the torture of the inner pain.
Like a slow and drawn out death,
You linger on while your soul withers,
And lonely days stretch into eternities
Of unutterable sorrow.
Oh, why do we love,
When a shattered heart is the only result?
Why do we allow ourselves to fall,
When we will only be smashed up in the end,
And end up lonely and hurt?
What insanity drives us to love,
And then laughs at our despair in the aftermath?
Yet, how can we not love?
A life without affection in empty
And hollow, and pointless.
Love is the colour we add to our grey days
And the reminder of life beating
Within our bodies.
Eventually heartache will leave,
And we will love again.
And somehow, in some way
We will carry on, beyond what we can see now,
Beyond the heartache of the moment
We will fly.