Sharp instruments

I  like to stroke my face.

The imperfections give me a goal.

It reminds of how it will feel to be loved;

To have a chest to lie on while they stroke my cheek lovingly.

This keeps me awake at night.

When will I find someone? 

Will I find someone?

How will it end?

It feels like someone has pulled my heart out through my mouth.

I can feel the icy, sharp instrument plunging down my throat tentatively.

Slowly, my insides are drawn out, stroking my lips.

The heart beat fades away into silence as I sit in confusion.

One day, I will pull the heart out of you and use it as my own.

Until then, I shall shake here with no beat left inside my hollow chest.

Please; find me.

The silence scares me.

Author's Note

Really quick one