Trampled on the Floor

Torn and trampled on the floor,
Squashed by the shoes of people
Whose feet have traversed faraway lands
All around the wide, wide world.
Covered in dusty footprints
Like a muddy welcome mat.

That there, is the still-beating heart of a human,
Once loved, but now no more, now
Unsure of how to continue on.
Where they will go, what they will see,
Remains a mystery in the dark,
Like the still-beating heart on the floor.

The floor is dirty and unclean and
Certainly not meant for such a
Vital organ as the human heart.
Will anyone tend to it? It seems
Unlikely. The pain will continue until
The heart, once trampled on the floor,
Is properly bandaged and loved.

The person was cut, betrayed, and burned,
Their heart was abused and hurt,
Pulled apart piece by piece,
One heart string at a time,
Until now, when it lies, like the dead,
Silent and trampled on the floor.