Member-only story
Don't Touch My Heart!
Don't touch my heart! There is an impenetrable crust of a shell on the outside of it. Calloused by all the cruel people that have raked their careless, jagged fingernails along it recklessly. It is weathered and beaten like an old, maimed and marked up peeling painted park bench. It has been sat on haphazardly, kicked ruthlessly, spit on with an icy disrespect.
Don't touch my heart! Like an ancient tree, it has hardened and withered in the frigid wind. If you sliced it in half, you could count the rings of many sad, haunting years. So many in vain have carved crude hearts into it. They have scribbled and doodled their doomed names, as if they had claimed it.
Don't touch my heart! There may be a crack beginning. Don't loosen the nails in the roof tiles of my pain cloak. It may have splintered many times but is patched with remnants of leftover pride. It may have healed wrong and might be a tad crooked now. It may be faded, the red color ashamed of itself. It is shamed to be the color of love. It may have paled.
Don't touch my heart! It may have a leftover arrow plunged deep and straight through it. It could have the sharp residue of metal shards from the tenacious thrust of some silly love zealot of a cupid. It may ooze an infection of stifled tears.
Don't touch my heart! It may be fragile by now. Tough, but thinned by beatings…
