Nothing shows: it's under the skin isn't it?
The urge to shout and scream and yell her name so that everyone knows she loves you.
The utter longing for her, filling vast emptinesses with the sense of her not being there.
The grip in the pit of your stomach that wont let go.
Screaming tears, boiling under the surface.
The grey profound sad because you're apart
A blindness of falling, flailing
Through the darkness in your head and
The slide and the spin, unstoppable.
The hungry absence of a point, a reason, for anything and everything.
And nothing shows.