Thinking I may have a chance,
writing poetry from the heart.
But that's not to be,
as you can see,
my world falls apart.

Now I must stand strong,
but I can't tell you when.
Broken, shattered,
nothing else matters,
till I put my heart back together again.

I want, I need,
I hurt, I bleed.
The pain, the tears,
the love, the fears.

Can't you see,
it's my heart that you steal.
Is it wrong, am I wrong,
to feel what I feel?

Why does it hurt so much,
if these feelings are real?
Then let this be the last,
the last to what I feel.