How many times can I be left for dead?
How many times can my heart be broken still?
Can I be the one to heal eventually,
or is my heart now like a fine powder of sand?
With little underneath me,
what keeps me from failing again?
Is it the fear that drives me foreword,
or the bravery or stupidity of such,
that makes me think it will work this time?
Powdered heart of mine,
can you love again?
Am I not still here,
and you still beating?
If I fail again,
can you be any more fine a powder than this?
If so...
than how far 'til death do I stand?
I am sad,
but why can't I cry?
I am angry,
but why can't I lash out?
Am I use to this,
my powder heart?
Are my words not able to express anymore,
how you feel as you lie in a pile?
Are my words that meaningless now?
I may never know,
or may never be told...
and even if I'm told,
can I believe you?
Will my battered and sand-made pile heart,
listen to such nonesense?
Will I...?
Will I ever...?
Can I...?

~White Rose~ @};-