A Battered Old Thing

It's a battered old thing.
It's been right through the wars.
It's patched and stitched all over
But there's still some bits coming loose
Here and there on the tattered old surface.
It might have been pretty once
But it's obviously had its time
Probably dropped once or twice.
A stain here, a smear of something there
Scritchy, scratchy, criss-cross markings
Running through the surface.
Duct tape as a makeshift glue
And glue itself aplenty, sticky stuff
Peeling off, it's coming apart at the seams.
Loose threads poking out at the corners,
A few edges coming undone
Squashed out of shape
And squashed back into it again.

It's a battered old thing.

But it's all that's left of my heart.

The End

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