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 façade, 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.