Heart

Feelings are a necessary nuisance Meant to tickle nerves running inside. Grotesque, wondrous heart empowers since Without it, I would actually die. A musical organ that beats with blood; Sometimes stuck playing a song about love, Until its final thud. Sound, more soothing than flapping wings of a dove; It pumps more than a gleaming red liquid. Pumps of a forceful impulsive rush Stream through veins diffusing to be languid. Wrongfully harmed, its blood, or feelings, gush. I never could survive without my heart, Whose blood paints me as an original work of art.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741