frosting

The frosting was sweet, but the center was stone, A party for many where I sat alone. I poured out my spirit, I gave until dry, Forgetting that even the clouds need the sky. I never asked back for the things that I lent, Now I’m paying the debt of a life poorly spent. My chest is a cavern, a wind-whipped space, Searching for warmth in a cold, sugar face. I used to be clear—a lake, wide and deep, With secrets and promises easy to keep. But sorrow is silt, and it settles like lead, Turning the blue into grayness instead. Always tried to give and forgot to borrow, Never deserved all that sorrow. Will the morning be kinder than this flickering light? Can a hollow heart beat through the rest of the night? The candles are melting in puddles of wax, As the weight of the "fake" starts to strain and to crack. Just the candles, the cake, and the bitter mistake— Of loving a world that was happy to fake.