Each time I sewed my heart together for it to beat one more time,
Only for something small to snag on the fabric,
And tear a small hole in it.
Shaggy as it is, my heart looks like a rag that's been washed too many times.
I sew the small hole again,
But it is getting more and more fragile, this heart of mine.
It may fall apart anytime.
Yet it still beats, strong and full.
Just like all the other hearts that's clean and pristine.
It's amazing sometimes,
Just how much our hearts can differ
But still do one same thing:
Beat on and on, living till the end.
YOU ARE READING
Dead While Breathing | Poetry
PoetryThere are many ways to die when you're still breathing. Started on 3rd August 2019
