With a flourish,
It was gone.
The warm beating heart
slipped out of the slashed chest,
still simmering and bleeding,
and he held it in his palm.

With every beat,
it slowly withered and flustered,
unaccustomed to this
harsh brutality
and whimpered as it saw its lifeline,
its blood dripping down, down
down to the ground and as it left its corpse,
as the life slowly slip away from the body it left behind,
and nothing but
flesh and bone
hopes and dreams
tears and smiles
were left behind.

He gingerly kissed it.
Gave it a little rub.
Put it to his ear.
Heard it call out to its rightful owner.
Then put it in his pocket.

He walked away.