Wounds

My life is hanging on a thread At a point where people make me feel more like a puppet then  person I feel more dead than alive My heart paper thin And covered in holes Some can be filled And some of them I don't expect them to ever be filled I will never be complete The wounds from my past fail to heal Because they are being reopened in the present With little regard to how I may feel Some of the wounds being expanded by people who don't seem to care About if what they're saying will affect me I try to heal myself But the wounds are growing faster than I can heal them My heart craves the love of the people who should love me But does not want to accept their love at the same time because they are the ones Who hurt me Who tore my heart into pieces Who created my wounds