It is an ache
An inexplicable desire to stop
It burns a hole in my chest
Therefore, exposing a damaged heart full of broken beats
You would think that this would be a sign for help
Key word: Think.
Yet, people turn a blind eye to the strain and tear stains painted on my face
They deny the visible struggle that strangles my mangled heart
Why?
When does pain have to be enough to be acknowledged?