A tale of a stump heart

A deep dark hollow space, where my heart used to be To feel or not to feel, there is no nay tale. Uncertain, unsure yet petrified of what might not begin. But how do you explain the absence of a feeling you know should not exist in the first place? Dear Magic mirror, maybe you can show me the future, The hope of what may come might revive the dead Or at least sprout a leaf in the stomp where my heart used to be. For even the hope of an end to it all would be a fantasy. When the tale finally unfolds And it's all said and done, When the storm calms and it's finally over And the voices stops whispering Would it be the a new chapter in the book, or the close of the leather jacket?