Heart From My Chest

Serve upon a silver platter every ounce of me.
Far from perfect as I try to survive each day.
But talons always lance through my flesh.
Agonising over what might be next.
My mind descends into a jumble.
Overthink and so I fumble.
Land myself in a sealed box, drowning.
Instead of speaking I am mouthing.
Sick of this ripping…

Heart from my chest.
I still can’t confess.
Damage done.
Finality without conclusion.

Mind swimming in a gutter of filthy decay.
Fighting for a future that drifts further away.
As whispers lure me deeper into the waves.
Feel I might be going crazed.
Counting opportunities I failed to view.
More than just a few.
Struggling to stay on a better route.
And so I am going mute.
Hollowed by wrenching…

Heart from my chest.
I still can’t confess.
Damage done.
Finality without conclusion.

Silence would be a blessing.
For I can’t hear anything.
Too much noise in my mind.
Making direction impossible to find.
Is there a path forward for me?
Or am I trapped in this cardiectomy?

Pulse fading to jaded coal.
Either romantic or fool.
Spinning within my form.
Body, like mind, is tattered and torn.
Where is right in this sea of wrong?

Heart no longer in my chest.
Yet I still can’t confess.
Damage done.
Finality without conclusion.