Fragile.

That's the only word I can think of
to describe the life I live and the kind
of person I am. There's only so much
to a lonely, old soul that anyone else
would ever even dream of

understanding.

But you, you know that already,
don't you? You come here daily
ready for your next does of my
thoughts bittersweet like the coffee
you sip as you read as much as you can
before the alarm for work goes off.

It's like you can't feel anything
for yourself unless you know what
I've been feeling lately, as though
you are only numb until I interfere
with your days. . .

Fragile.

That's more than who I am,
it's the life I live and the people
I love with every piece of my
shattered heart beating profusely
beneath this scarred chest of mine.

It's why these words sound so good
to you, why you think you understand,
even though, I know you don't. So don't
bother pretending, it doesn't make me
love you anymore than I do as is. But
don't worry, you weren't exactly meant to

understand.