If you dug your fingers into a heart
You’d find it dry and pruned
Try to hold it in your hands
And grapple for a pulse
You’d find the scars fleshy pink
And the holes from which
The blood was drained
Slowly with words and lack of love
It shrivelled into this

And it’s ironic that it’s a heart
But no longer has any capacity
To love anymore
Or skip a beat
And the rest of the organs
They do strive to keep it alive
But the body’s barely surviving

And if you see the eyes
You’d find how hard it is
To compel it to live
As though it had any chance
Of healing or being beautiful
Nothing will ever change
The damage that’s inflicted
Forever echoes in the bloodstream

Have you ever heard of this?
A heart that gave so much
It gave up on itself?

How tired the heart must be
Because it can never rest
And if it does
Then it will never start again
There is no second chance