I clench my heart in my hand,
Clawing my nails into my shirt,
Digging into my chest.
I've always been afraid of this.
I know how it ended last time.
My heart beats faster,
Fear creeps in,
Raising my blood pressure.
The wound in my heart may not be real.
But it bleeds all the same.
She doesn't understand them.
She laid seeds where there was scorched earth.
And they grew.
But that doesn't matter.
I'm not there.
I can't be there.
And It shows.
I'm one boy.
Who thought himself a man.
But he's nothing.
My fingers reach for my heart again.
Clenching my shirt in my fist.
Wishing I could tear that godforsaken thing out.
Who needs a heart?
It only gets me hurt,
Leaves me open,
And lets me fear.
Why do I care so much?
I'm not real.
I'm just words.
I bet my life could be explained in three sentences.
I bet I'm not special.
I bet I'm generic.
Shouldn't have existed.
Out of luck.
Low on life.
Sometimes rather curl up and die.
Because I'm a writer.
Who once thought I could change the world with a pen.
But the best I could change is my future,
The pen the best weapon to take my life.
Because life has already taken my love,
Leaving me empty and hurting inside,
I'd run if I could,
But where can I go?
It's not like anyone would notice until I'm gone,
Would you notice?
Regret things you didn't say?
But could never tell me because I was forgotten in a day?
Easily thrown away.
At least... that's probably what my exes say.
My fingers claw deeper,
Leaving red lines across my chest.
I'm nothing but trash,
This is my soul on a page,
Written for the world to see.
Because I'm betting my life is comprised,
Of all the things that couldn't be.
Things left better off alone.
Because if i tear that stupid thing out my chest,
You'll have to agree,
That once you carved a heart out,
with the words that you have honed,
That it is when a heart is most useless,
When a heart doesn't have a home.
And now my fingers clutch my heart once more.
Because after all,
I'll just make a mess.