Painful Tools

They say I have a dual heart, you know.
With two compartments, one filled
with clean and wholesome love for you,
and the other holding a love fashioned from
worn out memories and old shadows.

I’ve heard this is a dangerous contraption.

But I am used to painful tools, like the shears
I used to cut myself away from my former life,
and the needles I used to stitch myself
into this new one.

Sharp objects don’t scare me anymore.

What’s frightening is when I can’t tell
the difference anymore between shadow
and truth, when I hear his voice in yours
and find my hands very neatly sewing
your flesh into his place.