restore the damage.

if somehow you managed to piece my broken heart back together, and you dusted it for fingers prints, you would find the DNA of hundreds of other broken, beaten down souls full of pain. because the truth is, I never learned my lesson the first time around. I continuously laid my heart in the hands of those not worthy of taking care of it. each one made sure to do more damage than the last. squeezing every last drop of blood from it, digging their nails into the core, leaving it beaten and bruised. but for some reason, I felt comfort in the pain, it always left me wanting more. almost as though I deserved it. I knew what was coming but never changed my habits. so if somehow, you manage to restore the damage done, you will be left with a used, dried up, hollow shell of what I once called my heart.