Picking up the peices to my once battered heart.
Bloody and bruised, used until my last breath.
TOrn and ugly, it's been through a personal war against my mind.
Broken, Bleeding, and empty it sits int he palm of my hand.
It's Crimson liquid dripping to the floor.
It's still, never to beat again.
It's gone and dead, useless now.
Every emotion i've ever felt seeping through it's pores, and now it's all for nothing.
I am a shadow with out my heart, no pulse.
I am nothing without my beating.