What would life be, to be born again with the same memory of old pain still lingering in your heart?

What lives after the death of a person's heart,

After their world is burned and torn apart?

What mechanical part of the soul decides to smile and joke

While what truly was, and lived inside, suffocate and choke?

It's not a mask or an empty fa├žade, it's alive

It's a life inside your flesh- a battery that pain might contrive

It's the icy fire- that incandescent glow is locked emotion

It's that empty wish to cry, like pain without devotion

It's the glow in the dark remnant of what you were given before

So what's left is a fragile light, what will dash it to the floor?

It will shatter, spark and die in wrongful pain and bewilderment

What's left to revert to, when you've broken a hearts lament?

Who do you become, and what do you say to old friends

Do you start anew, a new person? - I guess it depends

You must be reevaluated, for then you don't want what you want

And now you pathetically pass what for you used to haunt-

You no longer think what you thought and live what you loved

Could it be cynicallity of the heart, too tired of being shoved?

After this is found, what can reverse its poison

It's another matter of the heart we have little choice in.