Charred

Every day, a little more my heart hardens.
Seems this way, like it's solid black and...
chard to no remains.
It stays the same.
It beats with such agonizing pain.
I wish I could just peal back the crust.
But I'm afraid nothings left, it's just...
a whithered pit core.
It's just an open wound, a pussing sore.
What's left of it?
who wants what's left?
It's nothing but a waste of space now...
But it's the only thing to fit the empty whole in my chest.