Kleptomaniac hands
stole my heart.
Took it away, to store
with the rest of their swag.
A glad bag of romantic thoughts.
Dressed in glad rags, to entice,
twisted the blade and sliced,
cutting out my heart, in a single motion,
so precise. Like a surgeon,
me the patient under the knife.
Light fingers make light work
of a piece of heart.
You are a work of art,
a trader in stolen parts.
Me a doner, with no card.
A wallet with no money to pay.
You play this game so well,
holding all the cards,
holding everything,
thief with a halo that's your thing.
You know how
to make men feel like Kings
before taking away everything.
I kept all that was left,
under lock and key.
Swallowed the key, to make it harder
to get to
the pieces inside of me.
Yet still
you managed to unlock
the padlock
over my safe deposit box,
and now I'm left,
no heart.
Just an empty chest
and a state of near constant shock.
Thanks for reading
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