'My heart is in your hands',
          Human hearts will always remain in transference,
Swapping from one palm to one palm,
                Until it finds the one real and right palm,
That will not let go of that heart.

       The worst thing is that with each changing hands, new bruises emerge,
           Like a fruit in the grocery store that no one wants to buy just yet,
So they squeeze to reassure till another pair of hands do the same.
             Our heart is nothing more than a fruit,
A fruit that is being passed around between hands.

                             I wonder if your hands are warm or cold,
But nonetheless only way of knowing is by letting you hold,
                my bruised and damaged heart,
In hopes you'll be the one to keep it.