My heart has died.

I now don't have a heart,
But it's not as if it were torn out,
Melted, liquified and evaporated,
Or even locked behind the bars
Of the poisonous enigmas of Theism.

It's as if it had never existed.
I can't feel it and there is
No memory proving that I ever felt it.
The written proofs of its existence
Are but hallucinations I used to have.
The rumors of others having it
Are not more, not less
Than the venomous blade of a double-edged sword
Thrust in the crowd to shake off
The numbness of their souls.

I sought in myself reason,
And found it, although I have no heart.
I sought in myself calmness,
And found it, although I have no heart.
I sought my creator,
To ask him as to the whereabouts of my heart,
But He found nothing else in me
Showing that I had one.  Until,
Ultimately, I sought in myself death,
But it was only my heart that could
Justify
A plea to die.