this is art?

i have never yet captured this feeling.
pages and pages full of nothing,
scribbled rhymes and empty sonnets,
i go back through the lines
i tried to fill with meaning.

here is my best friend
in 14 lines whispering of pain...
of two full years of empty hope
of blood, scars and tear-stained pillowcases.
in all these pages i found nothing to describe
this broken soul,
this heart screaming for love.

now i'm looking back
in hopes these words will comfort
but they are empty,
they swim around the page,
sounding fucking Hallmark;
sounding cliche.

and these tears of disappointment
creep down my nose and splatter on pages
of poorly expressed sentiment.
maybe you'll see my heartbreak
in the tiny bubbles they leave behind,
or the ink creeping through the fibers
of the paper
where i sold my soul.