Theis pain is bliss.
It's like a kiss.
I wont be missed.
I pump my fists.
And tear new rifts.
My spirit lifts.
And falls again.
Under the strain.
Of a noose on my brain.
Let loose for the pain.
It brings.
The blade, stings.
As I cut out my heart,
I said before, it's an art.
To be void of emotion.
It takes some devotion.
Cold as the sea, oceans!
Froze over.
I'm no closer.
To home.
I'm so alone.
And love it.
The fact that I plumet.
So low.
When I'm solo.
Hollow as polo.
A bad metaphor.
But I'm sad therefor.
I don't care.
I wont glare.
At myself in a mirror.
I shiver.
See, you don't know me.
Why I'm so lonely.
and I'm cold, only.
Thing is, I care too much.
Too share too much.
Would leave me such.
An open wound.
To be made worse.
It's such a curse.
But I bare it well.
-Harry
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