tuxcat

I rock a heart made of metal and glass.
It's cracked, and snapped in half, leaving cold shards in my hot blood stream,
making me think I was in danger of death,
but in the end those shards were returned back to where they were meant to be.
The organ pumps heat, damn near invincible, and mending itself when it gets warm and the metal goes soft.
The glass goes molten, and reforms in a new shape,
Something fitting for a heart meant to begin again.
I've had the thing beaten with a hammer,
dropped it off a building myself,
and left it in a freezer for years.

Its gears move slow, and blow red steam.
It pulses and hiccups once,
and squeaks from lack of oil, and cries when it shakes off the rust.
And then the red rushes the broken chambers, washing away the waste,
replacing all that it had taken.
Putting things back in their approximate place, and then setting the whole thing ablaze.
Reigniting all the avoided and long forgotten pain,
momentarily relinquishing all controls again to my cranium.
Fixing the internal pumps, and placing an "under construction" sign up on the way out.
After some time, it's as good as like-new,
ready to be used,
with no real memory of any of the abuse.

I pump a heart made of metal and glass.
Heat it up, melt it down, let it be recast and blown again.
Invincible in my chest, and almost cocky when it's in good shape.
Always ready to jump in again, as foolish as it believed nothing bad ever happened.
Heart don't give a fuck.
Metal and glass.
Recast and blown again, and again
Under the heat of my bloodstream.