Handle With Care Poem by I write because I have to

He told her his heart was kevlar and his skin bulletproof.
But the proof lied within when without her he'd begin
to unravel, crack.
And despite the fact that he lacked her now, it was all in the past
and now his future was glass.
His life tarnished and brass, no longer gold.
Left to face the cold alone, without the one he chose to hold.
Instead he chose to hold himself accountable
for all that was doubtable.
No home of his own, outside in the cold, with the piercing wind piercing his soul.
As he chilled to the bone on that bench,
willing to let go of the life he once clenched
the happiness that he once knew,
that drew a line between his life before and his life anew,
he closed his eyes and tried to die.
Because he tried to live and he tried to give and it didn't work
and this hurt too much.
He started to fade, then he remembered her touch.
He thought of her eyes and the surprises they hide
and the tears she was shedding.
There would be no forgetting.
The brain weighs three pounds and the heart weighs just one.
But what happens to them can not be undone.
He should have said handle with care because he's not bulletproof.
and the proof lies in the holes in his soul that are opening fast.
Handle with care, because my heart's made of glass.