An infinite second is lost when you cross my mind.
The minute that fades when I try to write this original poem.
An hour of the day as I think of the many minutes we cannot share.
The couple of days which turn into weeks, followed by months.
The cracks in my heart which suggest of gradual ageing.
As these fractures begin to become solid,
I'm finally aware of how mistreated I have been.
Who said love would ever do you any good?