my wooden heart

you slice

you pierce

you poke

you stab

for kicks and giggles

with a metal stick

oops casually slips out of your mouth

and you mutter a sorry under your breath

then there you go,

trying to undo what you’ve done.

but

leaving an empty space in my heart,

placing your mark that cant be erased

i try to remake my heart

polish or cut

sculpt or shape

it looks a little better

but its a little smaller…

my tiny wooden heart

people play people get hurt but its not normal. stop calling it normal and stop making me feel like this pain is nothing because im sure this death-of-feeling isnt something to be taken lightly

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