I just sit and think only of myself,
because my heart is sick.

Through acknowledgment I've started the healing process.
It's preposterous to think of this ill heartedness.

Sick hearts have no room to hide,
this sickness fills up on the inside.

Yet on the outside there is no signs,
though at the core it's cold and bitter.
This never leaves the body have a chance to consider
any healthy way of recovering.

I'm lost on this path i blaze.
Spewing out nonsense,
from this vileness stored up in me.

Slipping and backsliding
over this filth as I unravel.

Like gravel under my feet my heart is to me,
People have trampled on it , and I just can't seem to heal,
because it's just to flithy.

Being heart sick is like any other sickness.
It strikes at the core of you, though
what are we if not for the heart.

I make my way knowing I'm all used up.
This sickness covers over all of the goodness, that trys to help.

I thank God though that he saved my soul,
because of that this sick heart can't take control.