I often wonder if you ever feel bad,
For the mental game you play, so sad.
I'm an astronomer, mapping out despair,
Counting constellations in the sky of your cold glare.
Stars trace the path of tears I've shed,
Leaving a trail of blood, heavy and red.
You carve me like a pumpkin, tossed aside,
A vessel of emptiness, my body's silent tide.
I want to spill it all, build a ship and sail,
Escape this mess, leave behind this jail.
A skeleton, I'd be, memories hanging like bones,
Every gaze from you, a weight that groans.