I have all of these words, but none will come out

I have so many thoughts, but like the death of unbloomed roses, none will sprout

I have so many emotions, so many things I feel

But I can never find the right touch or ear to heal

Sometimes it hurts so bad I feel like I’ll just burst with despair

But I have to remember that if I did, no one would care

Who would be there?

To pick up the pieces

Of my heart,

That fought so hard to break down so many walls of distress,

Compressed against the worse and the best

For you and for me

So I must dare,

Ask who will be there?

To pick up the pieces

Of my brain, that lay strewn in plain view,

Stained with the dead red marks of time’s lies that refused to comply with my

Intricate device, so despite all the time people took to undo me

Who will take care to see,

That the pieces are picked up?

The pieces of ME!

Torn from deceit, bruised by defeat,

Wrapped in a facade of conceit too tight for even me to see

Blackened with abuse and blued with sorrow,

Looking for an excuse to stay till tomorrow

Perhaps to collect on all of the IOU’s of  past due trust,

Ungiven shoulders to cry on and unwanted lust

There must be someone that will be there to pick up the pieces..

But who?

Not you who makes cues to do what you will never do,

Or you who deceives to make me believe that you would never mislead

So who?