Tin man’s at it again

heart-hunting for one

soft, tender, a little too big

no matter if it’s scarred

it could be the vessel to harbor

the hollow echo of his being

I’ve heard horror stories

 of his heart lynchings

 I hide mine deep within

for fear he may spy

the swelling of my chest

or notice the look of

with-all-your-might

love on my face while

my heart, the prey

of his emptiness

lies in wait

to be ripped apart

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