a simple game of operation,
will cut open your chest,
will discover a devastation,
hidden in this mess.

your battered heart lay here,
with so many cuts and bruises,
stitches going back and forth,
a scar each time he loses.

patching every gap,
from September to July,
seams so easy just to quit,
without a reason why.

what good is experience,
when you break down and cry,
and every star he wished upon,
was: just lie down and die.
 
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