Open-Heart Surgery

I thought
you’d cocoon my heart in silken cobwebs.

I thought
you kissed all the bleeding pieces dry.

I thought
you understood the darkness
that will always, always be part of me.

You were nothing
I thought
you were.

You sliced into my flesh
with surgical precision
and extracted my heart
beating
from the cavern of my chest.

You smiled
at my pain and misery.

You snipped
at the stitches holding
my poor heart
in one piece.

Now
it’s shattered once again
in a million tiny pieces
and I don’t think
it will ever be whole again.

It’s my fault
for letting you in.

I let you
shake me
break me
annihilate me.

I could feel
my lungs slowly squeeze
air wheezing out.

I could feel
my lightheadedness
and a distinct,
unmistakable
twisting in my chest.

And, I realized,
that this
this was what heartbreak felt like.

I don’t want your anesthesia
I don’t want your pills
I don’t want your stitches.

I cannot
be healed
by the hands that broke me.

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