I was waiting, bloody beating heart in my hand, for you to want me. I had carved my chest, and dug the organ, digging my nails it the surrounding flesh to tear it in one piece. You took it. Oh heavenly day for you took it and held it in your own hands, my blood dripping onto the floor. You dropped it “on accident” once. We took the dust and gravel off together. You kept it. You dropped it a second time. This time, I was the only one to clean it, still in your hands, while you watched the other way. Sand was in my arteries, and small stones were being ejected with each beat. You dropped it a third time. You didn’t take it back. I had to carefully picking it up. Gravel digging crevices, sharp twigs stabbing through it. It was covered in sand and coated in dust, so much so that you could not see the red by by the blood soaking through everything, begging to be freed. Now it’s back in my chest. It pumps dirt in my veins and aches when it remembers the floor.
