I hate it.

I hate the way I break it.

I hate the way I can be so careless.

I hate the way I try to hold it gently,

This thing in my chest,

Only for it to shatter.

It tries to hold onto thing,

Things it should let go.

Like the way it feels to be in an old lovers arms.

Or the way that it flutters when they get too close.

I'm the one that gave it to them,

I'm the one that broke it,

I'm the one that waited for them to pick it up and throw it,

I'm the one to blame and I damn well know it.

I hate it when I hand it over,

I hate it when they take it.

But the worst of all,

I hate it when I break it.