My heart of glass

My heart is made of glass. I hate that it is and that everyone knows it is and still they love to shatter it! Why? Do they get a thrill out of it? The sound it makes as it breaks? I am tired of picking up the pieces and putting it back together. In all honesty I can't find some of the pieces anymore. Scattered to the winds I guess. Sometimes I don't recognize it. Sometimes it aches. Sometimes it burns. I have built a wall around it. A fortress of sorts. Can't get in or out. All anyone ever does is chew it up and spit it out. I hate my heart made of glass, now it is wrapped in a cast. Nothing can harm it, nothing can hear it. Just me in the darkness, alone I break.