If your hand could reach inside my heart,

What would you do with it?

Would you end my life with a measly squeeze,

Or to poke it, ticklish it laughs with glee?

Would your face turn sour,

At whatever my beating heart desires?

It's not as innocent as I try to make it seem,

Just a little broken, like a ragged doll with endless seams.

It matters not what you do with your hand on my chest;

Because it...

One moment.

Ten seconds.

Tear-stained eyes.

I was too late. Your dishelved look, horrified eyes, your white dress stained with what seemed like blood. In my normal state I would have just held your hand in mine and dragged you out of that apartment, leaving the beast you somehow loved.

But my fist thought for itself, and without as much as a blink, I left you at the entrance to face the monster ...

I could barely open my eyes when the first morning after you left greeted me. My room had stayed the same, and the world did not end. Yet a hole as big or even bigger than the universe was carved out of my soul; why did it feel like my world had stopped turning? I trembled as my heart ached, knowing that you felt the opposite; that instead of pain, you're feeling a newfound sense of freedom withou...