Pitch black darkness looks down at me,
Laughing at the tears rolling down my cheeks.
Covering my mouth I choke the sound
Of my wounded heart calling out
To what once was my Sun
And is now Tartarus beneath me,
Twisting the knife in the wound
From miles away.
Engulfed by a blackness cold and dense,
It fills the cracks of my desolate heart,
Leaving behind scars and dents.
I stare back at the darkness looking down on me and ask
Why the yin must exist to contrast the yang.