An Obituary of the Heart

My heart, it was acquired this morning in the dead clasp of one i might have loved. It had to be pried from their delicate hands, mutilated their flesh. I guess it does not matter if they are just to be buried, not a soul will see the cuts drawn into their skin. And yet i still wept for the bones that must have been broken to give life back to me.

My heart, it seems, i did not need. In Fact, It was an unnoticed change but how could i have been ill-tempered, for someone I might have loved had died with my heart between their palms.

Each artery had draped around their mangled wrists. Plastered to the skin with  stains of red. My lifeblood. But to which am I referring? To the corpse i may have loved, or the crimson drops slowly falling from their elbows. I've wandered, the question plagued each step, each leaf crunched under my lead feet has offered an answer. Thousands of pulchritudinous words i find no long lost revelation in. Have I lost my heart, or did i regain it?

It is early enough my words are not honest. I cannot bring myself to discover the truth. For how could i love something shrouded in death. Or how could i love something still beating in my chest. While my body decays with each word spoken by another with blazing eyes that extinguish the memory of one i might have loved.