How much more breaking do I have to do until my heart numbs itself? I am sick of this routine- my chest sewing itself just to be ripped apart once more. I wish I can leave it be an open wound for the flies. But, the pain of open wound is unbearable. So, I’ll try to stitch it with whatever I got inside of me. Because leaving your wound open won’t heal itself anyway.
Even after sewing the torn pieces of your heart, it will always remain to be a soft spot. A sore spot which cannot handle another tiny blow even. How much more do you think you can handle? How much more can you actually endure and act bravely?
How many more wounds are there until there’s no healing scar left to tear? I am sick of this routine. Tonight, I wish my heart would just tear itself into a handful of be numbed pieces. And tomorrow would stare at me- an aftermath of a storm. A heaving curiosity. A girl, lying in pieces and with no heart left to break.
That way, I won’t have to gather up the torn pieces once again. I am not supposed to sew it all over again. No more sore spot. Nothing more!
Unabridged Manuscripts 
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