Succour

What are the treasures of your puny little heart? Does motivation pulse out of the depths of your vessels Has solace become a bitter tentant? Will he never depart? If your heart had a voice,what would it say? where would it start? Chats of a leaking heart,stories of daggers that rip it apart. Fears that nibble on its surface like a ravenous rat. Tell me who addresses the worries of that heart. Who dresses the ripped cardiac muscles? Time only seems to heal what shows while masking the inner blows.