Hearty

Eating good ?

Cleaning your plate?

My, what shiny utensils.

You keep your knives sharp.

You must of been starving, kept you waiting and I'm sorry.

The meat may be a little salty.

It was seasoned with pain, when you took my heart from me.

Not single-handedly.

I gave you my love, now my tears become the gravy ,that covers your fork.

You devour a piece of me, that piece that sustains the rest.

It use to beat for you.

Repeatedly.

Before being ripped from my chest.

I had to give it to you myself, dismantling ribs, digging through my own flesh.

Breaking my cavity to meet your demands.

Ripping past tissues and vessels with blood soaked hands.

Committing suicide to meet this dinner plan.

I am your chef.

Yes I, had to serve you myself.

My very own heart, enjoy your meal.

How contradictory that something that lives in me ,something I can feel is owned by you, with which I must part.

However I cant complain.

Every argument within my brain telling my heart not to love you went in vain, fell apart, the second you spoke your name.

My heart wasn't broken , it was fileted, presented to you with garnish in a magnificent display.

And try as I might, try as I a may stealing it back won't take this pain away.

No.

My heart is yours, to do with as you may.

You could of protected , kept safe locked it away, or do as you are now, slicing away piece after piece of my warm heart with your cold blade.

Just want you to know you took a part of me.

My job was to love you, and if you were that hungry, to not love responsibly.

Then I hope this meal was hearty.

                    - BlindManJack

Author's Note

ignore grammar problems