Imagery - An exercise in writing

When I write, I write what is in my mind, the hopes and the fears I hold so close to me heart, it hurts to let them go, to share them with anyone. The second you choose to open your heart to someone, is the moment they become infinitely close to you, and twice that amount more able to hurt you. For in trusting someone, you give them all the power in the world. And all you can do is pray you made the right choice, and that they will be the one standing beside you when the walls come crashing down, and not the one standing on the other side, laughing, mocking.
Hope is the key to life, it's what keeps you going when you';d rather quit, what makes you spit in the face of those who forsake you and carry on. It gives you the strength to live.

And always with hope, comes expectations. If one glimmer of what you hoped comes true, a part of you cannot help but expect the rest of it to follow as well.
But of course, that isn't always the case, rather, it is usually the rarity. And the hope hurts twice as much when crushed, because it feels like you had reality in your hands and dropped it, watched smash into a thousand small splinters that would cut you and make you bleed if you as much as tried to pick them up to put them back to gether.
And the needles cut into your skin, and you bleed, and scars form over the cuts, and the glass of the broken dreams you held so deep festers within, and you cry out because what once brought you so much joy now brings you so much pain. And you have no choice but to continue on, to let your inner body fight off the infection, for that is what it is, until your body is whole and good again.
But some nights as you lay in you bed alone, you swear you can still feel the shards stabbing into your flesh, the pain still inflicts itself on your mind.
And you wake up, bite your lip and try not to scream as the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth, and slowly but surely you beat back the demons of the night.