May I introduce myself:

My heart doesn’t

exist, someone threw

a brick at it and it

suddenly was crushed.

Not even hope can come

from Pandora’s box.

My heart must be

that common carpet

that is always trashed

after so long.

Sometimes crying

can’t mask someone

who’s broken.

They won’t like how

soon they

will be longing to know

the old kid with a

smile plastered on her

face.

Let her cry, is

what everyone

says, but I say

hold it in ’til

later.

          . . . The hurt can’t

          say much, when

          they’re hurt.