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


love on my face while

my heart, the prey

of his emptiness

lies in wait

to be ripped apart