My knees ache with the constant pressure to walk, my lips are raw from the constant small talk.
My back breaks from the constant pressure to sit and stand up straight. My ankles are weak to begin with, let alone after knowing where I've been.
My fingers ache with the pressure to write with a pencil that only digs into my skin. My eyes are weak, vision dimmed with all that I've seen.
My heart seems to be the worst of it all, it beats my blood through my body. It holds up my bones despite the strong oppose. My heart, though it does all of this, has had the greatest beating. Person after person has come into my humble abode that I call my skin, just to begin to rip and tear my heart apart.
I've learned to never let someone in, but it just seems to happen again and again. I've never learned that the same person will have the same greedy hands.
What happened to the quote they say, something about your heart may break, but may it never be by the same hands twice?
Well, my hearts been broken by ten people, each has broken it thrice.
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The Trees Talk
PoetryThe trees talk, they know what goes through your mind. The trees, they scream. +previously Perfection and Deception+
