The rush of wind,
yet it does not touch me:
it passes through.
Something's missing:
A piece.
A hole in my heart.
Left untreated,
will devoure my soul.

I walk away againts my will.
My mind knows this will be the death of me,
tries to turn me back.
Whatever's broken inside of me:
the gears of life.
They do not want me to return to pain.

You know what I feel,
but you're happy.
For you I'm just that thought,
that object that you kept to amuse yourself.

See me as something more,
something beautiful and brave.
A sacrifice in the wrong context.

You come to me in my final moments,
place the object that you kept:
your heart;
into mine.
Rejoice.