Every time I breathe, the hole in my chest expands and contracts, it almost feels as if it is doing this around my heart. It makes breathing harder, then again, the breathing doesn't come easy. The idea of you, leaves me not feeling warm and fuzzy, you see - I know that would be harder. Instead, I allow myself to gather a coldness towards the idea of you, so now when I see your picture, I get cold and my hands tremble, yet my heart doesn't stop rapidly beating, as if trying to jump out of my chest and nuzzle into the warmth of your neck, or the comforts of your soft hands. I don't want to see you in person, because then I wouldn't be able to stop my heart, from wanting to reach out and grasp at your own, trying to bring the two pieces back together. No, I don't intend on pretending I'm whole. I only intend on pretending that everything will be okay.
Your sweet beauty is all that's soothes my mind, but it wreaks havoc in what is left of my heart. So I find myself gazing at you through a screen, and murmuring I love you, so close to finding a method of numbing out the pain, until I cannot anymore, until the pain in my chest becomes too much. They say that love comes, and it goes, that I could have missed my chance and I think I am okay with that for now, maybe later when you find someone better than me I will learn to be okay.
The substances I have taken a liking to, are frowned upon, people are worried I think but have not said anything, some have. But I am as I am. The hole in my chest is as deep a cavity as ever, it swirls and whirlpools with fury spitting out screams, my own screams - yearning for me to try and fix myself. I prefer not to think, not to speak but the thing that pains me the most is that nothing actually makes me feel anything more than lust or cold. So tell me not of warmth; I pray every night because I'm doing my penance, and all I could ever actually ask for, is for His will to be done for me and then, it will be okay.
