and you, the faint of heart, and we, the faint
of mind, administer to each our cause
and be your symptoms pounding in the chest
and be our painful thinking much alike
we have no heart for faints like you, nor do
our minds revive upon your intellect
o yes, a heart is easy to dissect
but no great mind can put it back together
we bleed for you, our love is great like that
an ocean of remorse, inaptitude
of mercy, valour and of gratitude
we spilled our blood like milk, encrusted with
the rotten crust of time’s unfaithful hand
you said we would or couldn’t understand
all the complexities of chambers, valves
and veins, the mechanisms of the flesh
you feigned a certain interest in us
but interested not in live or love
you just invested time in us, and charged
us interest, you knew we could not pay
you back, and we knew nothing of your way
to cure an illness only to remain
attached to the disease, the patient lacks
your empathy, whether surviving or
deceased. But now the pain resides within
yourself, and we can nothing do but love
your agony, despite the sutures in
our hearts, our flesh, our veins, no drop of blood
of our compassion actually remains