Tears Of An Empath

Whether I like it or not, I’m always emotionally available, even to a stranger on the street. You can sense this sort of thing in a person, in someone who can’t help but work overtime for the ones around them.

Do you see it?

The last thread in the sweater that’s keeping my heart warm, it’s unraveling. Consideration is draining,

unsure if there will be anything left for self sustaining.

Look how I silent the voices for you with a fake smile on my face.

Did you notice the strain in my voice from holding back the screams that claw their way up, adding blood to my taste?

Are you watching the achy way I fumble through accomplishing any and everything for you?

Can you feel me tense in your arms? It’s because that embrace wasn’t meant for me, it was for you. It’s for you because if I succumbed in that moment I will lose hold of the cap keeping my bottle from ooze.

The least anyone can do is acknowledge me for a moment as I pretend that what’s killing me in my world isn’t killing me because whether I like it or not, I’m always emotionally available.