Her Heart

This is my heart's general status. I'm okay, but it sure isn't.

Beneath her hands
wrapped warm inside
lies a heart
which slowly dies
Quiver not beat
blood warmed meat
torn and ripped
dart here and there
and from cuts drip
through glass splintered
weathered bruises
Her heart refuses
to beat, not willing
to go on

A little ductape
but it hurts to stretch
with lies that stick
to broken flesh
Pull needle and thread
straight through
That’ll do
But nothing will fade
the scars it’s made
and how long will it sting
and ooze in between
to plague
this motherly mind
To her heart, please be kind
And maybe once,
but never twice
she’ll have it back
time to time

Cradled is
this heart in hands
Blood stained stench
and from demand
roughened skin
on palms
can not cradle this heart
and protect it well enough