I have a Heart of Glass

You wouldn't want to break a heart made of glass because they break easily. That's the first thing anyone would think when I tell them this. They would always be oh-so solicitous, not to break my heart because they are so afraid of hurting me. Guilt will hit them so hard they crumble. That's what most people thought, at least. Because in reality, they should be doing it for themselves.

What people don't realise is that when glass shatters on the ground, the pieces that are left are dangerous as a poisoned knife. Pain like no other will be inflicted upon those who are careless. Whatever that happens to me when my heart shatters doesn't matter any more than their pain and absolute betrayal in their eyes. But they're the ones that got careless.

What happens next is simple. They will, somehow or another, get those sharp, fine grains of glass in their foot as a reminder for their carelessness. Little shiny glass shards that go deeper the more they try to get back on their feet and walk away from me. As if I ever wanted to be associated with such vile creatures.

After they manage to crawl away from me, usually from desperation and fear, I start to pick fragments of my heart once again. Nothing changes as blood trickles from my fingers and the palms of my hand. I will endeavor to fix it and eventually, it will look the same as it always does: perfect and delicate. Then the process will start all over again: I would warn them of my heart of glass and they would be oh-so cautious not to break it...

But what people don't realise is that my broken heart causes as much damage to them as it does to me.