You press your heart
against a jagged edge
It oozes
you run it against
the teeth once more
A butcher with his saw
tearing grinding splitting
till the wound’s too deep
for the pain to be tasted
you could run
you could shield
or heed when it moans
pity when it recoils
into its own dark pit
nothing’s left of your heart
but raw veins bitter
gnarled flesh mangled
by the claws of anguish
you refuse to evade its foe
even when it’s breath ebbs
drawing ever closer
to the moment
when the last desperate gasp
will mark the end
of what was began
by a jagged edge.
A bled dead heart
will love no more.

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