Many souls have inked their names into my heart,
driving the pen so deep,
it punctured the delicate flesh.
The organ is now engraved as if it were a tombstone,
with a series of letters pressed together to form the titles that separate one from the other.
The strings of my heart are now stitches to the gouges left by their inscriptions,
lacing the wounds in a desperate attempt to heal them.
Perhaps, I should begin carving my name into the hearts of the ones who’s pure intentions are to penetrate mine.
That my fragile heart of paper,
must become a vigilant heart of steel,
so that no more pens may tear apart the walls.