What art my heart torn apart makes when it bleeds over the edges and onto the hands of people who just wanted to touch me.
Greedy fingers and hungry eyes.
I've been devoured visually by souls
who did not care that I bled blue;
they didn't care that I breathe for you.
Long nails raking down my skin, desperately trying to hold onto the truth
that I am an end goal,
but that they are not ready.
They do not Inform me that behind the conversations of a future,
that they would remain dreams,
Broken ones
and that forever is indeed a time
and it is not as long as I thought it would be.
So please, keep your hands off me.