Can a heart be too fragile to touch?

Or, perhaps, too cold to love?

Is this what makes others too closed off?

Have they no-one to trust?

Many hearts a-bleeding,

Both young and old,

Dumb and wise,

From a selfish other,

Who stole this soul of mine.

And these few vain, villainous minds,

They only live to harm,

So when their job is done,

They take their own lives, shatter their own hearts like hammer to bone.

There are sparse few now, who value others more than themselves,

Not caring whether they'll create a legacy, or fade in the yellowing pages of their final days,

For when they die, a great many come to sing their praise.

If I were to ask you," Do you wish you could go back, fix what you've done wrong?",

You'd go and reply, "I wouldn't, I've done nothing-nothing at all"

And if I were to answer that you've stolen a-many hearts, then shattered them like brittle glass,

Then what would you say?

Would you still let it pass?

Why must lives be so fragile?

Why must our hearts be but bleeding, broken halves?

Always trying to find our missing pieces; running out of time, too fast.

Why can't our minds and feelings be made of hard, stubborn stone?

Why can't we all be that bold?

Why can we cry ourselves to sleep at night?

Why do we fight?

I suppose it's all in human nature; like God create us be,

For His own twisted entertainment,

Us fragile creatures, we.

Demons and ghouls, right and wrong;

They are only concepts, futile laws.

We, still persistent,

Find a way through,

To break other's bleeding, fragile hearts,

Like we'll always do.

Before you take your final rest, I must ask,

Can a heart be too fragile to touch,

Too hard to be glass?