Weak

Every beat of my heart Burst with aching pain, Welling my eyes with painful Crimson tears -surely He would see the stains? But those tears were invisible to him, Just like my screams were silent to him. Day by day he twisted the knife, That he had plunged so deeply, Into my shattered and feeble heart, A little bit further and a little bit harder, Until there was nothing left; Just a vacant body, Withering, dying, before his very feet. I’d kiss away any of his wounds; Small scrapes or tears… But to him those gaping holes that he was leaving; Those tender scars, That would forever remain; Scorched into my soul… Were insignificant to him. And from all this I have learnt one thing: He never cared