Vulnerable

Vulnerable, I laid myself down on the table.  There I laid my life open and free.  Emotions won and loss, all flowing onto the cold table. 



I laid myself before you, hoping and praying for a kind return.  You saw me there, exposed only to you.  You leaned over my exposed body, looking at me with intent.  You then raised your hand and placed it gently on my chest, right over my heart. 



With time you compressed your hand slowly into my chest.  The tips of your fingers began to dig deeply into my exposed flesh.  As through the skin they dug, streams of my life began to flow from the wounds.  Your hand dug its way into my body.



Your warm fingers grasped my heart in an awful clutch.  You twisted it and roughly removed it from the safe place.  The beating heart you held over me for all to see. 



The pain was too much. How I wish I had never gotten on the table.  With rivers of blood pouring out of me, I left you with my beating heart still strongly clutched.  I left to become whole again.



That emotional table of haunting vulnerability still persists in my dreams, and the hole where his hands once dug have begun their healing, but the wounds remain.



Where do I go from here? God only knows.