I am alone pondering my thoughts,
there is no flow in the river,
and all is dry,
and it is like my emotions, and the tears that I do not cry,
the tears that I do not cry anymore,
and I am sure that they are gone forevermore,
and I am glad to see them walk out the door,
for I have been heartbroken so many times before,
and I have no wish to be heartbroken anymore,
for it is no fun at all, and though I am not cold,
I have no wish for my heart to go,
anywhere near love anymore,
for the idea of love, it now sickens me to the core,
and love to me, love to me is a bore,
and I have no wish for more,
no wish at all,
and my heart is happy alone, happy alone wherever I roam,
and love it means nothing to me,
and heart shapes, kisses, and romance,
I am quite happy to leave them all behind,
and except my actual heart,
I would rather never see anything of hearts,
again, in a romantic context,
for love, love it only gave me a complex,
and I am happier than I use to be,
spending time staring at the empty riverbed,
than spending time with those ex-girlfriends I was with,
who only brought me misery.