These broken hearts.

Broken hearts fill the jars in her apartment. She has a collection on her shelve. My heart was number 87 but I thought I was first. See I never saw the jars or the blood trail till after she ripped my heart from my chest. Even then I thought she would give it back. A walking zombie for months. I couldn't eat, sleep.. All that comforted me were pills and alcohol oh what a tangled web we weave. I was stuck and didn't even know it till all the blood left my sleeve. Understand that I never knew she would take my heart. I never offered it to her. She stole it. She used to sleep so peacefully like nothing was the matter, like all these hearts weren't beating so loud. The first day I heard them I thought I was imaging. I thought I was hearing a clock.. it ticked and it tocked and I dozed off. Into a slumber so blissfully calm that when I awoke I didn't even  notice I was bleeding. I went on for 9 months not knowing. Like I said I was a walking zombie. The tears ran down my cheek once I saw there was no more blood to be shed. Once I saw that my heart was now her trophy I died. I died so quickly that thought of life was such a distant memory I never knew it had existed. I never knew I existed. Broken hearts fill the jars of her apartment. I finally got mine back.


PAT.