I'll box it.
I'll leave it in the corner of my room.
I'll forget about it.
I won't need it after all.
Because no one will want it.
I'll forget about it until I clean up, and find it in the corner of my room.
Still beating. Still alive. But so unloved.
And I'll dust it off, sing to it, hold it close.
And then I'll box it again.
I'll leave it in the corner of my room.
Until I feel I can keep it on a leash once more.
Until I know, that it won't be stabbed at, once more.
My heart.
