to protect it itself from the world.
It does not trust its body.
It find it too weak.
Too heavy.
A burden.

There is not a tear shed.
At least not yet.
Not a single tear shed, 

to wash away this pain.

Like daggers in my heart,

this saying is cliched.

It is hackneyed, used, mistaken,

Like this heart.

It does not cease to beat.
However much it wants to.
Outside the window, people are cheering.
Or jeering.

What was the difference?

The heart waits inside its body for the sun to set.

So its demons get run free in the night.
In the night where people are trapped in the sky of dreams.

Laughing.
Reaching out, as if their pudgy fingers could even dream of reaching those dreams.

They are naive.
The demons will teach them.
They will rampage the sky,

but in the end they will still fade away.
They rip the stars apart.

And they always will.

And when day comes they rush back into the tiny heart,

force it close,

protecting themselves from the daylight.

Which lets them escape.

As daylight mourns these dreams, the fallen stars.

The demons press against the walls of this heart

The heart that convulses in pain as it tries to contain

these monsters it had created.

These monsters that streak out the midnight sky at night

to tear away the stars.

Revenge for their own,

fallen dreams.

The heart cries.

It cries for freedom.

From this body that cannot protect it.

It cries.

For permission to stop beating,

throbbing in pain.

It cries.

For itself.

Wallowing in self-pity.

In silence.