the jar stands empty on the bedside table

rather inconspicuous and usual aside from the small flecks of dried blood on the rim

you laugh and revel as blood drips from your hands

delighting in yourself and the one you hold

funny, its just a simple mason jar and no one would ever guess what resides there

you tire now of the bright red dripping joy and briefly debate what to do

quickly now, put it back in the jar, seal it up tight

it's meant only for you to take out as you wish on another day

the heart slides easily back into its home, alone

always able to be seen through the glass, but rarely touched

valued for all it is, but taken for granted that it can never escape

the heart sits on your bedside table silently grieving