Please don't come too close.
My heart's sign glows CLOSED,
red and neon enough for blind eyes to see.
And it's strapped up in shackles, rusted.
Chained tightly behind my breast with
brass bolts ensuring it's bonded and bound,
entwined so unfound, or at least undiscovered
and it's clear you've no clue how to leave something uncovered.
So it seems you're still inching toward breaking the bondage
but I beg you to stop.
The word "trust" is unwanted, unwarranted, but you're fond of it.
And you whisper it over and over and it hurts to heart
and my ears are bleeding you make soft-spoken promises
and keep repeating that word, wielding more fear in me,
working your ways and making me say it too until I trust you,
but I really don't want to.
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