I stuck my heart in a bucket of ice today;
Buried it beneath a layer of cool, clear cubes.
It had been beating a mile a minute—
Beating in concert with the fire once inside me,
But now it pumps so slow, so faint, so slow.
It had been beating a mile a minute—
Forcing pints of blood out of my body,
Bleeding me to death,
But now it’s freezing into four bloodless chambers.
The beating, the bleeding—turned now into
Silence, numbness.
It's hard to decide if it's better this way. . .

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