You are scared to break my heart,
I can tell it by the way you run away.
You are in love with love, I believe,
Silence reveals more than what you say.

You have shoved me out of your life,
Like a thousand burned out yesterdays.
Unbeknownst to the greater truth,
That was somehow lost in the fray.

I've succumbed to a stoic existence;
Unfeeling and painless as it may seem.
My every breath spells out your name,
Pleading for a chance to redeem.

The crimson serves as my ink;
I will write till my ink be dry.
With my tears I'll moist them again -
My reasons, I hope, you'll identify.

And send them with the wind of faith,
To reach your altars of love, so upright.
Words to mend bonds that were broken;
Words to reveal my act of contrite.

A shard of hope - my only consolation -
As I stumble down the fathom edge.
Save me the agony, and the false blame;
Painting my world in an obscure haze.

This is the closest I've ever being,
To win back what was always mine.
Like a patron saint of lost causes, whose -
Triumphs and defeats are all entwined.

If the breeze wafts on my melancholy face,
Bringing with it your sweet fragrance;
I'd conclude my love prevailed, and thus -
Deviant - I'd subsist with an inner solace.

The storms, if in case, are fully ablaze,
Transforming my hopes to disdain.
I'd go quietly like a strangled lover,
Who has learnt from slower hands.