Why is “broken” put with flowers?
Why is light carved on its grave?
When the broken version seen by me
Was nothing more than brave?
The speech made by each person
Seems to be rehearsed and plain.
Only words coated in empty love,
And feelings unexplained.
What do you call this drabness,
Lacking colour in our veins?
The sound of hollow silence,
And the darkness that remains?
What do you call the dread inside,
That carved a hole too vast?
It went far past my brain and mind,
Till all became the past.