Remorse

Lost in war with myself,
Should I stay or should I go?
Should I seek out my own place,
Or should I call your arms home?

Home - not a place,
But a warm and fuzzy feeling.
One kept deep inside,
For when your heart is reeling.

Reeling from the pain,
From the stinging of defeat,
Crumpled from the sadness,
Or burned by the deceit.

Deceit that seemed naive,
The lies were told in haste,
Promising golden castles,
Then laying them to waste.

Waste, waste,
To waste away.
To hollow your insides,
And slowly decay.

Decay, death, rot.
The worms they do slurp,
To feast on my innards,
And my body usurp.

Usurp, take control,
I hand you the reigns.
You're now the master,
Of this heart and its veins.

Veins pulsing blue,
Beneath my pale surface,
Beg you to touch them,
To fill them with purpose.

Purpose filled eyes,
Gaze down into mine,
They make my heart hurt,
Though I say I am fine.

Fine. It's whatever.
Just don't look too deep.
I'm afraid you'll see me,
The frightened black sheep.

Black sheep of the family,
Tainted, worthless wool.
Think you deserve nothing,
Your glass never full.

Full of longing for one,
While another you hold,
Your body always shaking,
Your hands always cold.

Cold to the bone,
You hurt her for sport.
Taking pleasure in her pain,
Yet feeling no remorse.

Remorse.

Remorse.

Yes.

You take pleasure in her pain,
Yet you feel no remorse.