If home is where the heart is,

I’ve lost my heart not so long ago.

I’m asked,

Does it feel like home yet?

And I wonder,

Can’t they see this bloody hole in my chest?

It hasn’t healed over,

There’s been no stitches,

Not even a disinfectant.

I can see the infection,

Gnawing away at raw flesh.

Some days there is restoration,

Some nights there is none.

No comfort,

Rest,

When all that keeps me awake is a deep longing.

Alas,

It’s a reason to live.

To be whole,

Grow a new heart.