If your hand could reach inside my heart, what would you do with it?
Would you look for what made me tick?
The reason you have no effect on me?
It is a gentle piece of machinery,
Please don’t hurt it; hurt me.
Would you hold it gently, like that of a butterfly?
Or crush it to dust in your hand as you watch the life
drain from my eyes?
My very life would be in your hand
So please, be ever so careful.
With your hand in my heart,
would you tinker with it? Make it align with yours?
If you search long enough,
You will fine the blackness soon enough.
It hides, deep within me
because it despises the light and love that emulates
from its surroundings.
With your hand in my heart
what could go wrong?