You needed to get through the layers of my skin to truly see the inner side of me;
the bloody side that's no longer taking cover.
But despite the effort,
you still don't have access to my heart.
The heart is protected by more than just skin.
To get to my flesh and bones, well that's easy;
a tiny cut will do.
But to reach my soul, that's when the real struggle begins.
A simple incision won't do the job.
You'd have to cut into my chest,
the gate that keeps me safe.
At least that's what it did before you got to it.
Who thought the key to my core would be a saw?
A saw so essential to you that without it you cannot pass through the sealed gate.
It is only now that you have the power to place your cold hands on my crippled soul.
Only now, when I no longer have a say.
Only now, when I'm too far gone.
Squeeze, squeeze.
I can no longer do it on my own.
I have done it for way too long,
with the hope that you'd listen to my heart beats or even just hear them.
Squeeze, squeeze.
I can no longer do it on my own.
Perhaps blood is still running through my veins. But only with your support.
Helpless. Defeated. But not surrendered.
Just in need for you to squeeze.
It has been wounded to the point it can no longer beat.
Guess you won't be hearing any from it anymore.
But you could've.
The key did not have to be a saw.
The key could've been a smile, a kind word,
or a gentle touch.
You would've had access to every piece of me,
and the power to keep the pump beating,
or to never beat again.
The key to did not have to be a saw.
I did not have to be on the cold surgical table.
I did not have to be cracked open with my blood splattered on the floor for you to get a glimpse of my soul.
I hope you enjoy gripping on to a heart
that can no longer beat on its own,
Because without your grip,
my body will be as dead as I am.
YOU ARE READING
Behind Her Eyes: A Collection of Poetry.
PoetryHere are my words, thoughts, and most importantly, all the feelings I burry. I've finally gathered the courage to share them, and to share a part of me. Here are the thoughts that visit me through the night put into words; of all there is to fee...
