i reach for the source of my demise,
and gently place it,
in the hands of my betrayal.
my heart doesn't know any better.
my heart only tries to be elastic,
bending back against the constraints of my chest.
i place it in the hands of my betrayal,
before my mind and heart
can come to a mutual agreement
that trust isn't the right option
and i'll go back to feeling broken.
my heart doesn't know any better,
and half the time i don't think
my mind knows any better either.
we're both resilient,
in silent ways.
we kind of recover.
my heart only tries to be elastic,
but elastic wears out.
how long will i continue to trust?

|m.s.