This glass heart is filled with hate;
Wrapped in darkness; consumed in pain;
Cracked and bleeding, yet it remains.

Bursting forth, from this heart’s crack,
Blood that is, the purest black.

Take a look and you will see,
The story that is, killing me.

Here it is, in my mind’s vault.
My family’s ruin, she says it’s my fault.

I was having, too much fun,
Now I wonder, “what have I done?”

I searched and searched, but found no job,
So she called me, a fucking slob.

Sometimes I wish, I could change the past,
But even then, we wouldn’t last.

Our daughter’s first Christmas, the end began,
I found a message, to another man.

It was him she wanted, to my surprise,
As for me, she wanted demise.

In my mind, the memory dwells.
In this glass heart, the pain it swells.

I once loved, my daughter’s mother,
But my glass heart, now loves another.

So here I sit, with my lover,
Wishing she was, my daughter’s real mother….