Half Empty Glass

If I could give you my words,

would you accept them for as they are?

Would I never have to cower

from your intimidating shadow?

Did you ever once say these words and mean them?

Or was I to put these words in your mouth,

as if a songwriter, putting words down on paper,

so not to forget what comfort lied within?

...Comfort, my dear;

this strange feeling

foreign to my senses,

 in my mind, as if imagined.

...but they are imagined.

Imagined in the very depths of my soul.

Now I feel this feeling,

in which every day will haunt me

for the rest of my life.

This feeling, my dear,

in which I can't take back,

but can never recreate.

Nothing is there.

Everything is there.

This half-empty glass

is sharp fragments of things 

I could never feel.

©LJ

22 April 2014
Revised on 9 July 2014