Love is an act of blood and I'm bleeding

As wind will blow cold through a rocky gorge, slowly carving deeper, so does the memory of what once was, the pain of loss widen the empty chambers of the soul. Regret and longing can stretch you while you shrink and shrivel against the onslaught of reality. Resolve is cracked by self pity as the daily flames of hope are sparked, fanned and quenched when what is wished for never comes.
Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe the strength to move on will finally come. Letting go is never easy, rather a long and painful process more readily dealt with by better men than me.
Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself and I apologize for exposing my weakness in this forum for you few faithful readers to share. My state of mind is such that I could have easily been talking of myself in my previous post. Perhaps I was.
In writing this, I’m hoping for catharsis, or, better yet, absolution from my inner demons. What I really want is the void in my chest to be filled, the empty vacuum that I feel in my solar plexus to be still and quiet. I know, wah, freaking wah.
I’m sorry.
Love is an act of blood and I’m bleeding. A pool in the shape of a heart.