Locked out (Entry 3/21)

I see a figure in myself knocking on the brass door of your tightly shut heart
Each knock getting more silent than the last
His legs fatigued, knuckles bleeding from each desperate call
Eventually it all turns silent
He gets tired of getting no response
The silence worse than any rejection
So he treats his wounds, tapes his hands and locks his heart; refusing anyone from coming in
Creating a vicious cycle that wounds up hurting the next person and the next and the next.