Handle me gently,

For the architecture of my heart is spun of fragile silk.

The softer it glows,

The more it bleeds.

Even a whisper can shatter what took forever to weave.

In my silence, hope quivers,

Waiting for the hands

That won't break it.

Perhaps I'm proven wrong,

Thinking I just made it.

Stashed down, all demolished,

As brittle as porcelain you are.

Grow up, admonished.

Restless in my cradle, I am,

Stripped of everything I had,

And still was said,

"That's all you have."

The lattice got weak, I guess.

Tender,

Tenuous,

Tremulous.

The web trembles under the weight of longing and fear,

Yet it clings.

What breaks in silence,

Aches in echoes sling.

Even in ruin, I was feral;

Its beauty lies in its peril.