Vacant

A feeling has a presence that can never be obtained
because there’s nothing that will leave a little fragment of a stain;
all that’s known is what you know but you will never have a show
besides the faces in some places where a feeling does its dealing.

But these feelings will be born and also torn within your mind
before they shine upon your face until that showing fades to waste;
so the reason that this poem has the title saying vacant
is because a warming feeling isn’t here or near complacent; for me.

There’s a draft within my heart that only hurts because its sharp
and only clots as torment rots my worried peace into a crease
within the darkness of my pain that is the reason I’m insane
for feeling something I refused but still received a stupid bruise.

For I know that I have felt a little feeling known as love
and it was passion filled with action that was more than satisfaction,
but that feeling’s growing weaker since I never get to see her
and these rations are so meager that I feel like I should leave her.

But then a pain grows in my chest that never fades or goes to rest
because confusion melts my face until I drift off into space
to think of moments that were special that will hurt if put to waste,
so here I am within a jam to wonder if this love’s a scam.

The reason that I choose to stay is probably cause I am a fool
that goes so blind and shines with kind until I am her little tool,
but now it stinks to sit and think on what I want and what I have
so now my soul is only shaking, loving thoughts are bent and breaking.

There is a sign that would help bind my mind into a peaceful state
but at this rate I cannot take these thoughts away from any shots
that pierce my bliss into a fritz that circuits out until I shout
I do not know if I should go or give this chance of love to grow.

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