I broke a few ribs when I fell to ground, when I was falling in love with you.

One of them punctured my heart and I've been bleeding you ever since.

I'm almost drained and the doctors are calling for a blood transfusion but all I really need is you, and your AB-type-blood-love.

The doctors are calling for a heart transplant, but how is that possible if you already took my heart when I made you home?

The poet's taught me that home is where the heart is.
My heart has always been with you and I had become accustomed to calling you home.

Now I am not only homeless,
I am heartless.