Encased in a box in which you locked yourself out of
you’re nothing short of beautiful, just too broken to love.
Broken hearts still beat, you just can’t feel it, like its gone
your last prayer, last incentive to carry on.
Marks left on your skin, too delicate to hide
a timeless scar to torture you. You almost died.
So finely etched into your skin, scars will permanently reside
so scared, so hurt. Gathered all feelings and cast them aside.
This box has no purpose, still carries broken remains
I still hold myself back, self-inflicted restrains.
Katelyn Coutts 2013
Heart Shaped Box