now my heart is strange

jukebox : furniture's hushthe dead are dreaming

this heart is strange
it wakes pining
devoid yet bursting
its vessels runneth over
with tainted blood
spilled on castaway affairs

this heart is strange
it squirms in fear
of letting blood too much
recoils in apathy

this heart is strange
it is full of this thing called
e.m.p.a.t.h.y.
it cries for the lost voice
of the poor and sad

this heart is strange
it screams for a justness at
wrong times and places
recoils in empathy
it sobs for itself and promises
never to, but only for others deserving
Every Man Please Address Thy Heavy Yearning