The Heart that Bleeds Itself

The Heart that Bleeds Itself

A heart once whole now drips with red,

The colour of all it could not keep,

It beats against the canvas sky,

A wound that refuses to fall asleep.

Love tore through it like a storm,

Each drop a memory falling free,

It bled for those who never stayed,

It bled until it ceased to be.

The hands that held it left their mark,

Each print a scar of what was done,

Now all that’s left is open ache,

A shape that mirrors what love becomes.

It pulses still, though barely whole,

Its rhythm caught between pain and grace,

The world moves on, but it remains,

Bleeding truth into empty space.

And maybe that is all we are,

Hearts that break to prove they tried,

Beating softly through the dark,

Until there’s nothing left inside.