Crying,
deep, gutteral, gnarled crying,
ugly and cracked,
broken and chaotic,
forced up by my heart [sense of betrayal],
lodges itself in my throat.
Left so unjustly done,
stood up and abandoned,
because it was hung from a rope and left to rot.
For twenty three hours and forty five minutes.
Taunted.
And yet,
it feels
nothing.
My paper heart can feel Nothing at all.