Not yet,
It's still too soon.
I'd prefer for my heart to start right in my chest.
It craves to be mended,
Each shattered little piece.
No longer broken,
And finally set free.
But imprisoned by fear,
It cages itself.
Leaving the key,
Only eighty beats from its hell.
For any heartbreaker to stumble upon;
Without noticing the true power,
My heart can commend.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 1:31 PM UTC
Not yet,
It's still too soon.
I'd prefer for my heart to start right in my chest.
It craves to be mended,
Each shattered little piece.
No longer broken,
And finally set free.
But imprisoned by fear,
It cages itself.
Leaving the key,
Only eighty beats from its hell.
For any heartbreaker to stumble upon;
Without noticing the true power,
My heart can commend.
