Lying on the couch I attempt to pick myself up off of it to move, to simply move.
Scattered about the lonely place I call "home" are pieces of my heart.
I make my first attempt to clean up the mess and put the pieces back together,
But I know the work will be a slow process.
Promises, promises, easily slipped from the tongue and meaningless.
Empty, void, promises as useless as a candle in the wind.
May as well have been spoken to the air for all they were worth.
I wonder how I will be able to trust ever again anyone.
That doesn't sound good.. I'm sorry sweetie.. You going to be OK?
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