I cut my heart out of my chest for you.
You told me you loved the warmth radiating from it,
And I couldn't let you get close enough to me anymore,
So it seemed like the right thing to do.
Once, you rested your head on my chest,
But then a hole opened up, started seeping poison into me,
And I didn't want it to reach my heart, so...
I cut it out, and it was yours.
It turned necrotic anyway.
The blood congealed and turned it black, hardened like stone,
And I could barely breathe on my own.
You looked at the heart with disappointment, no heat coming from it,
Looked at me and took pity on my dying bones,
Gave back my heart with a smile on your face.
You'd cut little triangles into the edges,
Made it dangerously sharp and serrated.
You pulled back my skin and ribs, opened the hole wider
And shoved the dead heart back inside,
Its jagged edges knocking against my soul.
Pain emerging, I asked you why.
"I always liked to bite deep" you replied.
I'm not above using cliches.