They say when your heart is broken,
the heart dies,
that is just a lie to heal a moment,
the truth is, the heart is well alive,
it sprouts like a tree, oozing blood, pain, and torment
you pretend you don't feel; you pretend you are petrified,
but you feel it: every stab, every burn, every torn tendon

So is Cupid's trickery,
so is the curse of love:
an immortalized heart to spend eternity in misery.