Carved Hole

I'm restless in this old body. Dry brittle bones cannot withstand your unknown jibes. It's this heart I was given too. It's strong and healthy, yes, but it was placed on the wrong side and does me no good. You aim at that carved hole where my heart should be and there is nothing to cushion the hurt, no soft tissues to catch the pain. So it hits me hard, like a plane crashing into a building. My chest catches fire and my eyes send salty water to extinguish the flames. It is then, perhaps, kind of strange how you who cause the fire, is the one who fights it the hardest.