like liver/ hitting the bag- still workshopping

The more you mess with emotions, the more they fall apart in your hands, like operating on a liver... so I think I’ll just let her be...

It does her in
The difference in him
Between actions and words
It’s absurd
The weight she put in it
and now she sits
on the fence with everyone else
Hesitate at their belts
wondering if they’re the same, desire their game
Left her down and confused, feeling used as a prize set aside by pathetic lies,
Tried to be honest and bare, let down her hair,
heart on sleeve,
and she’d like to believe
She has the strength to burn again, keep a thin skin, take the pin out of the weapon
and throw it in the den
of another lion.
She’s trying.
She’ll take devils out with this punch
like numbers she’ll crunch in her head about the choices
emotions to the surface...
Love will never be perfect
What is she aiming for?
Even the score?

Or those patterns on the back of leaves
Their movement and grace
*breath* She’s shaking
Is it really worth taking
a heart out and looking at it?