You Are

'Yes, I am', she said
As solemn hands fixed her heart to the wall,
'But if I were any different, crook,
You'd have no sport at all.'

He sat her down, heart pinned to stone,
And brushed limp curls from her face.
He packed her soul in his bags of charms -
Wishing her well before leaving her home
An emptier, lonelier place.

She sits there still, an abandoned doll,
Limbs pale with the blood she's lost,
Limp she stays for all her days,
Face wan and glazed eyes distraught.

If her heart were not her own, after all
She thought, whose is it,
And why do they not call?

She sat for years, and her hair grew long,
And she became tall like a weed,
Brittle and grim, no longer strong.

She became grey with dust and disgust,
Cloth rotting and skin sagging to ashes,
And she could no longer see for the weight
Of time, heavy upon her eyelashes.

So she was blind to the hands that caressed her cheeks,
She didn't know who unpinned her heart from the wall.
She felt but could not speak to thank
Whoever stitched her up, chafing life into limbs
That had become porcelain stiff with cold.

All she knew was the gentle touch
That eased her to her feet,
And the loving lips that touched her mouth
And re-taught her heart to beat.