A needle in the heart,
It's not a knife,
But it is easily a start.
The pain starts to grow,
And covers all areas of life,
Steadily, yet still slow.
Another needle stabs the heart,
Making hope light the fire,
That kills yet another part.
The heart shrinks in size each day,
As people pass it by they wave,
And the pain they cause remains.
What first sounds innocent may turn around,
Driving home the last nail that seals the coffin,
A mere hour before they lower the heart into the ground.
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