During this time
of looseness,
my heart
or anyone's heart
might just
thump itself
so hard
that it breaks free from the ropes,
breaks free from the ribs,
breaks through the epidermis
in a wave of slicing
with it's newly evolved
animal hands
and a knife.

The **** does a heart
get a knife
and animal hands?

"If i'm gonna make it out of here alive," heart says.
"I gotta have hands."

So it breaks free,
scissors right through the sternum
and crawls
in a trail
until it falls from the counter
and the front door opens
a crack.

I look out a window
and it is hailing a cab,
although there aren't cabs
like that
around here.

It'll find it's way
where other piece-of-**** hearts
reside.

It will make it's way,
and I'll make my oatmeal in the morning;
that grey ****
that I shovel into my mouth.

Iron's good for the blood
you know.

My heart had a knife,
you can't tell me a ******* thing
about the iron
in oatmeal
being a blessing.