In my pocket is where I hold my heart.
It has been there ever since it was ripped apart.
The damage came from letting it run free,
Putting itself in places I knew it should never be.
It has been stepped on like a muddy floor mat,
Gnawed and chewed like cheese by a rat.
It is only by the fault of my own.
Maybe this heart is meant to be alone.
Time and time again, I’ve tried to put it back in place
But, I’ve grown so cold, it no longer has a space.
One day, it may come out of my pocket where it can see the sun.
My only fear is it will it once again run.
Though I’ve learned from my mistakes, I know it will still try.
That stupid little heart, it’d be better off to just die.
I know there is hope for it but I do not know where.
Maybe that day will never come, Who knows if I’ll even care?
