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I've made a thousand promises,
Each broken or craved with crevices.
I've failed to project any of my emotion,
And neglected your needs without any compulsion.

"My heart aches for you,"
"My mind reaches for you,"
"My body hungers for you,"
"My soul searches for you."
Promises and confessions made,
each of them true, or so I say.

Fear sits on the throne of my kingdom,
Silencing my heart, a peace without freedom.
I cannot feel for you as I used to in the past,
For love is a die which must be cast,
An emotion as pure and strong as the heavens,
Decided by luck, rolling sevens and elevens.

I've become cold, invulnerable and brave,
at the cost of a cold invulnerable grave
that my heart, barely beating, lies in,
numb to the world's most tasteful gin
that we call love. 

 - )|(