The Red Ink

For so long I've ached;
for so long I've yearned,
to tear out a heart so fragile.
I've wanted it off my bossom,
to feel how it is a heart without.
I've longed to pen a tear-jerker,
an emission from a burning inside-
that smolders my chest empty,
denying me the covetous heartbeat.
Now I cut my body open,
firmly in my hands I hold my heart.
And on the white paper I let the red ink flow,
for I detest earth's appetite that's oft° rejuvenated;
craving for my shell and ink.