These tears aren’t shed for no one,
and they do not fall for anyone.
My tear stained shirt only holds half of the story,
there is no evidence of an agonizing journey.
The birth of new life is meant as a glorious feat,
but when it’s life or death, who chooses your seat?
Blood holds us stronger, holding onto life.
But when I can’t help you, who’s controlling the knife?
A minor error in our rivalry schemes,
but it’s not only me that’s untying these seams.
A smile to mask a haunting burden,
when tears are staining your pillows all too often.
A hand to carry your delicate form.
How do I help if I’m battling my own storm?
Self-centered behavior, we’re both so naïve.
You’re fighting to stay, while I’m eager to leave.