I feel very lonely traveling on this road.
I don't know my destination; I don't recognize this abode.
And things just aren't going well, and by things, I mean me.
And home is not what it used to be, and it's not where it used to be.
I uncorked my thirsty heart in hopes of having it be filled.
Instead, the little bit it used to hold has thoughtlessly been spilled.
And my heart sits on the table, a specimen of disease.
And it feels like a million jigsaws where there used to be one piece.
Here it sits empty. Here it sits still.
Here it lays gasping, losing its will
To live, to love, to hope, to go on.
And the rest of the world goes on.