What is mine

You're there again by the edge of the bed
With your head down and teary eyes.
You try to feign a smile as hard as you can
But end up filling the ocean with your pain.
 
This is the scenery that is set tonight:
The night is black, it's pitch black
And that's all there is and ever will be.
It's not a night anyone else has.
 
"It's mine."
 
Nothing good will ever come out of it.
You know it only gorges on whatever good,
the only good, that life has to offer
And it is always gorging on whatever good
 
"That is mine."
 
But then a thought glimmers in the dark
Like that small blade in the dim room.
You drop your head further down to a cringe,
"What if someone has been looking at what...
 
What is mine."
 
Perhaps that person has been gazing
Into the void, into the pain, the longing.
Then the pain finally becomes unbearable
Because of a thought that overshadows all.
 
That lone, gentle, quiet soul within the calm,
The only person to feel a kind of empathy
For that unlit night, a canvas without a painting,
Would too and forever and ever be taken by:
 
"What is mine."