Picked apart, the partially picked heart fell apart from the start,

Til the end, though their "friend" did it again and again.

Shattered, scattered, plastered on the floor,

Loved no more, out the door my life did soar

Sorta short of sore.

The same excuse they did use til the abuse was no news.

But expect the prospect of dialect to intersect the intellect and intercept the concept

Of the commotion of emotion, set in motion by the notion of together

To get her, or he as the case may be, for see

there seems to be a consistency that is plain to see, not just with me, but humanity

And that is not to dismiss what love is,

but to be broken is a token of something unspoken

and the motion of emotion is chosen

Repetitive repetition repeatedly replaces the faces and vases of the past

til, at last, you have your last

The future blast, cast, and you do pass

Your last chance given up for chance