My heart doesn't crumble when they finally go,
When they take their prodding fingers out of my soul,
Because they were in already-made holes,  
Whose depths, long ago, have come to plateau;
So curious fingertips, aren't missed  
When they finally stop trying to scratch an itch-
Or cease their search for a scab to pick, a wound to lick;
I'm used to it, the pain that sits atop these heavy eyelids...  

And with this weight comes benefits,

I never have to show,
The world will never know:
That deep inside, I'm small and vulnerable
Because tears no longer grow when they only come to go.  

-SLuR