Story-Time

There's a little gap,

which I like to call a fault.

Small, I assure you.

But large enough to pass through.

Within the gap there's a little crack,

Which I like to call a weakness.

Small, I assure you.

But exploit it, and it will grow.

Soon it becomes a little damaged.

Something I like to call I bruise.

Small, I assure you.

But it shall swell.

There is a little puncture.

Which I like to call a broken heart.

The hole is small, I assure you.

But it shall grow.

There is a little gap.

Which I like to call the unknown.

Small, I assure you.

But it shan't remain unknown for long.

There is a little nothingness.

Which I like to call pain.

And I assure you.

It feels empty with sorrow.