[ a broken machine ]

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when the heart becomes weary of caring, what does it become then?

does it become a black space where the mourners offer their condolences to the wild?

does it become an empty lot where you park yourself to take smoke breaks in between crying?

does it become a cold shower berating down mercilessly onto your body like a penance for the things you wanted to say but couldn't?

does it become something less of an organ and more of a machine that operates by command?

what does the heart become when it no longer wants to follow protocols of feeling?

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