Why can the black sky mirror my pain,
and the shinning stars- my tears,
or the shadows- my nightmares,
and even the cold air- my loneliness

A flaw visible on a rose,
a simple streak on an abstract pain,
and a frown amongst smiles,
a lonely display of imperfection

The neglect love itself has shown,
allowing a broken heart to mend,
only to cup it in its own cold hands,
and pull it from both directions- tearing the blanket of comfort the heart itself once had

Pain then leaves that heart exposed,
open to a new world of cold,
cold enough to burn not only the heart-but the eyes the tears must escape,
even then- pain is for perfection