i don't wear my heart in plain
view; in fact it's in a million
little pieces scattered among
the land of previous women.
all i bare for viewing
pleasure is the scars dotting
my arm; and it's my veins
that hold the evidence
to the better days i've known.
strapped down to a routine
of never showing anyone
the portion of me that remains
hidden inside, deep down
beneath the years of trying
to find a cure to this frown.
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