"It", The Death of The Unborn

There are many ways to cope with what I feel, yet tonight I sit in sorrow, in grief not only because "It" died but because "It" was never alive to begin with. My heart burning in ache, feels like tiny glass shards are stabbing it. My ears hear nothing other than the white noise of pain carried through my veins. I can smell the empty soul that I carry, like an empty vase with only a drying petal to remind me of what I used to carry. The tip of my fingers ache because they miss what they never even had, like the body of an addict I too shake because my body hurts and pleads me to bring "It" back, like the mother of an unborn child, it pleads to carry "It" and nurture "It" yet again for once. Still, I must sit tight and help myself because in the end the world will always be an ocean of things left unsaid, things like all "It" probably meant to say but never really cared enough, things like all I cared to say but never really had the chance, things like all the love poems try to express, things like every love song clearly cries. So even as I silently sob because even when my tears are dry and my soul is empty and all I can think is why "It" never said anything, why "It" allowed me to make a fool of myself when "It" knew that I was clearly trying, trying to bring a shine over the feelings I knew "It" would hide, trying to mold a story like a potter molds his clay, I must still hold myself, push myself, throw myself into the path I've named The Door to Moving On, because I can't bring back the dead, I never should have tried, and now I wave goodbye as I watch the Devil take what I wished to call mine.

#prose