i quickly reach for the sewing scissors, they will cut this out, i know it. and then, i will shut the wound with the finest silk thread and no one will know and it will be quiet and unread.

and you may glance up from your thick book and glance at me when you think i am not looking, but i will see, you know i'll see. and i will feel your eyes burn past the sutures and break them open. break them apart.

but you will be surprised to see that i am empty, and i dont have anything for you to steal and i dont have anything to lose or to give or to put in a glass case on my mantle.

and i will wear this worn facade for days and years of smiling faces until it grows onto me. until i forget myself in it. until the scars are covered and my eyes brighten and my hands stir little, my lips pink, and my mouth is only a trunk for laughter and 'i'm fines'. and the cold of the floor on my barefeet will be the only reminder that i could once feel your shoulder.