scars tucked in the deepest
recesses of ourselves
near the beat of our hearts.
There it remains.
We forget that it is even there.
As it should ever be.
But my lover,
ever curious,
determined
to get to the very bottom of me,
Who I was.
Despite my fervent warnings,
he kept bloody searching
until he knew the truth.
Poor man!
The viscous red fluid was dripping
all over my hands before I knew it,
as his own chest cracked open,
and I ripped out his heart.
He should have left that particular scar alone.
**Sorry to have been gone for a bit...Cancer is not friendly to writers!
