Bitter Thoughts

A gravestone marks an empty grave that holds so much weight.
The heart lays heavy in my chest but lies dead in an empty grave.
Is one to fill such holes with dirt or leave them exposed to fresh blades that no longer draw blood?
Am I to hold a fresh blade to bleed those that bled me dry?

A bottle adds to the nightstand half empty, but filled with the remains of dreams.
My mind remembers dreams that burrow themselves in an empty bottle that throws itself to an empty grave.
My heart it beats against the casket its breath dying to fill the empty with the love it still bares.
But do I dare allow it to breathe when it will only snag itself on a fresh blade to be bled until empty again?