My love, it has been getting harder
(and harder)
to hold your heart
and be your shield.
Because your most fatal enemy
is yourself.

I see the way you
fling open your arms –
vulnerability is beautiful,
but cleaning the wounds on your back
stings me more than the initial plunge
of knife through skin and sinew.

I can hear your broken heart late at night.
It is the sound of a fist
shoved in your mouth,
teeth clamped down
on your knuckles as you fight
the pain bubbling up like acid.
And it is the sound of Time
doing his best
to suture what is left of a tattered spirit.
You think I’m asleep,
or that I can’t hear you,
but there is something about the night,
unashamed of whispering horrible truths.

I will never refuse to match your ache,
(wound for wound)
because Love bears all things
but now I am begging you
to set them all down
and heal.

My love, it will get easier
(and easier)
to hold your own heart
and be your own shield.
Because your greatest friend
is myself.