There Is No Title To Truly Express It... Poem by Barbara Danielle Smith

I walk into his open arms, only to be woken by the buzzing of the alarm. I realize my pillow is wet and the tears won't stagnate, soaking the collar of my shirt. Just thinking of him sends me into panic. I die a little more every time I see him draped over another. He took my heart when he left, whether he understands the damage done or not. It just hurts so much more than he cares to acknowledge...

Does it ever get easier?
Does it ever stop hurting?
Will we ever be able to feel again?
Or will we be walking corpses, in perpetual
Agony over the pains love cannot seem to subdue?