My chest is like an open heart surgery where everyone that goes by just takes a piece like it's a ******* drive-thru with free taxes. It's not on the house when there is no home. My parents didn't raise me to give to the homeless so I guess karma is a ***** after all. I am still waiting for people to return the pieces for recycling so I can stitch myself back together. But I guess I will always have holes in my chest because you died with pieces of me.