Waking the Dead

I wonder how you'd feel if you found out that my love for you lies bleeding, bruised and broken. I wonder how you'd react if you found out that it was all your fault. I don't think you'd be able to accept that; I think it would make you cry. I hope those tears you shed are more in number than the ones I shed for you because I deserve those tears as compensation for what you've done to me.

My heart now lies cold, in a tomb somewhere long forgotten; there's no chance of my getting it back. I fervently hope that someone will find it; I need someone to save me from your demolition of me. There was a time I thought I'd never be the one who needed saving, but that's one of the little ironies of life; the unthinkable becomes a reality.

But even the worst of times must be balanced with good; even death must be balanced with life. I cling to this tightly, my only hope that there is something better ahead. The ice cold, dead heart must be balanced with something warm, alive; so I'll hope my saviour has a fire burning in their eyes, enough to awaken what has died.

And then we'll take the world by storm.