Breaking.

Broken.
Whether or not that's a feeling.
Or a state of being.
It's her.
Broken.

Shattered.
Even shatter-proof glass can be broken,
If hit with a strong enough force,
It's demolition.
Shattered.

Hearts.
We give them willingly to someone unknown,
The key to our souls,
Lays freely in their hands.
To help grow,
Or destroy.
Hearts.

Blood.
It's the vitality to our existence,
But if tears shed were blood shed,
Would we all be dead?
Blood.

Love.
It's a wonderful gift granted by two individuals,
Freeing the mind of all spiteful feelings,
Does it not create wrath?
Hate?

Broken.
Very much so a feeling.
It's more than a state of being.
It's me.
Broken.