there’s no such thing as a broken heart... right?

you use up my tears

now there's nothing but dry sobs

as I sit choking up

vanilla-flavored shards of my heart.

I'm not an idiot,

but I am when I'm with you.

You puncture my neck:

watch me bleed, you always do.

I don't get the term 'broken'.

I think we can always be fixed,

but my hand twitched

in time to the heartbeat in your palm.

(there is no heartbeat

in your palm;

there was only frozen movement,

fidgeting to your favorite song;

(it played over and over all night long.))

now I've grown soft,

my sobs aren't real?

not even I know how to feel.