A Cold Soul

A poem about a good friend of mine.

~A Cold Soul~
I’ve tried to understand
the little things that I’ve had
with a broken hand
and a bleeding eye
tears come hard
for one who doesn’t cry.

I watched as my father
was lowered down
the blood I’ve had
was spilt to the ground
a lonely display
of my affection.

And if my heart was open
then maybe they would see
this cold soul who is the real me
with a pain in my chest
and a cramp in my wrist
I’m lying awake on the floor
twisted and broken
with the blood trickling down my eye
I’m not sure that I care anymore.