Death Of A Vital Organ Poem by Amanda Saveley

The rough thorns brush close,
Cutting deep within the confines of a guarded heart
Broken and bleeding
Hardening with each passing cold front
Until it thaws and is marred once again

Self-inflicted wounds do not heal as easy.

Yet the thorns wrap deeper,
Delving, cutting,
Marking reminders that each failure twists the vines
Tighter still until the heart cannot breathe
It cries out in sheer, unadulterated agony
Letting all the warmth seep out until there is nothing left
Nothing left to speed the ever-quickening current of crimson sorrow
Pouring forth like tears over skin
Soaking the vines
Feeding them the sustenance needed
To grow and strengthen
Covering the heart, guarding it,
Shielding against all intruders wishing to seek it
Until it is truly guarded
Frozen in time
Oblivious to the world around
Oblivious to its own pain
Its still raw lesions, its afflictions
That become infected, slowly bringing death to once vivid vessel

Self-inflicted wounds do not heal as easy.