Empty

As I spend the night crying to myself,
I feel as if I'm contained in an embrace.
It should dry my tears, should make me grin warmly,
but a hug has nothing to give if it's empty.
I understand that you wish to console my dying heart,
but it was you who poisoned it, my love,
with such empty promises, empty truths.
All of it empty. All of it only that more painful.
And now I am weeping
because should not love conquer all,
even if unrequited?
Should it not conquer my jealousy,
my anger, my anguish and pain?
Why am I left screaming to the Darkness,
who lends no mourning mortal her ear?
Traitorous vixens, the shadows are.
But regardless, I know all crying will soon cease,
and I, wrapped up in my woes, will again feel empty.