The heart,
Pumping organ of pain
Thriving on words,
On actions
That do not exist in wisdom
But rather
In the pathetic minds
Of those who have not known
Agonizing misery
But give them time
To experience the treachery
Cold and merciless
To even the sweetest good
So what is the point,
Of this bloody appendage?
Crimson tears,
Laughter that hurts,
Nothing, yes.
