Holes.

I was born with a hole in my heart. And that's not a metaphor.
From an age that I can't remember I'd draw pictures of my heart with a large gaping hole in the middle.
As I grew up I learned it was only the size of a pin prick, but that hole effects my everyday life.

As I grew older the trauma's of life
Made that hole gape. And that is a metaphor. Failed romances, failed friendships, abandonment and neglect made something the size of a pin prick now the size of what I use to draw. I was never allowed to participate in cardio when I was younger since it was too much of a strain. I could never understand because back then I could walk for hours and only be left with a rosy gleam upon my cheeks. But now I'm exasperated just by the thought of getting out of bed in the morning.

My surgical operation left a large scar upon my back which you can still see to this day but trauma has left scars upon all of my limbs.
I never noticed my operation scar until I was 15. But at first glance my scars are the first thing people see.

Some may call it intrusive for a surgical knife to slice open my skin and allow other devious metallic tools inside of my catalytic body. But it saved my life.
At 14 years old many other things were inserted into my body. But those are the things that now kill me everyday, the thought of those "utensils" drive me closer and closer to the edges of hill sides and motorways, leaving me teetering on the edge.

I was born with a hole in my heart, caused by genetical defects. But the hole will never close. The hole only grows deeper, wider, larger each year with each horrible memory that stretches it.
Each drug I take, to test it. Will it send tachycardia into overdrive? unfortunately not. For some reason I'm still here.

3 years have passed since I was 14 and I still find clothes in my draw. Holes within them, puncher marks in the most intimate areas of my tights, holes where fingers fit, connected to a body driver by a demonic mind. My mother would never let me wear stockings, but she's always let me wear a singular pair of tights. She didn't know what was going on inside the hell hole of a bedroom of mine.

I now wear 3 pairs of tights in hope that no more fingers can get inside and I'm now 6 months clean of drugs praying that the hole in my heart will heal up, but I can feel the muscles still weakening.. 

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think! I'd love to know.