Just A Bunch Of Words

My white shirt

I'd chosen a white shirt that day.

But how was I supposed to know,

my own blood would ruin it?

Because I was foolish,

I gave a stranger my heart.

He promised to hold it,

cherish it.

Protect it.

Love it.

But he lied.

His words stabbed at it,

yet his silence sliced it.

He threw it against a wall,

but he still held onto it.

He smashed it with his foot.

He dropped it until it broke.

And I just sat there,

and let him do it.

My eyes were clouded with by the vision I wanted to see.

And it was only once he was done,

it was only once he shoved my bloody,

damaged,

broken heart

back into my chest,

it was only once I felt the blood,

seeping through my shirt,

that I saw him for who he truly was.

But it was too late.

I didn't want anyone to notice my bleeding heart,

no one needed to know I'd been stupid.

So I changed my shirt.

It hid the bloody,

broken,

mush I know called my heart.

A heart that was bearly ticking.

A heart that could never trust again.

A heart that didn't even look like a heart.

But that's what happens when you give your heart to a stranger.

It ruins your favorite white shirt.