Cold world

My heart, a heavy and squishy organ.

Heavy and warm.

Ripped out and left on the ground.

Beating, still.

Until, it is still.

This heavy and warm heart, placed on the ground of a cold world.

Automatons.

Devoid of empathy.

I tap the shell of each person, hoping to know if they feel and see what I see.

Nothing.

And I am left alone, on the cold ground – waiting for a fellow heart to see and feel like me.

Syre.