Heâs in the same room, but it feels like weâre miles apart.
How am I supposed to mend this broken heart?
For him, it seems weâre all set and done,
But for me, heâs still my morning sun.
I think of him with everything that I do.
There must be a possibility we arenât through.
But the reality is that love is a dangerous game,
That makes you believe failure is your blame.
Every bad thing youâve done comes flooding in,
Making you want to take a blade to your skin.
Cut deeper and deeper hoping you donât feel numb.
You panic and cry because you still feel like scum.
Deserted, abandoned, isolated, alone.
Emptiness fills you right to the bone.
Dead is the once happy dove,
For that is the curse of lost love.














