Love is like a glass bottle sitting upon a frame,
Devastation is to blame,
For the gruesome loss that had taken place,
Slowly the bottle falls without a brace.


The bottle cracks and splinters,
For Love isn’t gone, Nor is it the same,
Seeping through the cracked jar a cold heart grows to be like winter,
I am an example of that tightly bound fool.

Broken and shattered, Love exiled was from existence,
Gently Dusk reaches out comforting Love before she thought to flee,
Love follows Dusk turning against Life to travel far into the distance,
Now becoming a shadow of what it used to be.

Sorrow burrows deep into the soul effecting perspective,
The keeper slowly grows crippled,
Therefore no cure can mend a wound deeply infected,
Love fades away and not even Time will forgive this sin.
Whom is able to love Sorrow for its facade that it only learned to borrow?

Remanence from the glass turns tinted from sour Death,
People who ignored the shrieking pleas and heavy blood stains
against their feet now are contaminated with a sliver of regret,
Although people who saw through the glass into the heartache
that I tried to delay before my last breath now feel Sorrow too.