Thief

Thief.
What belongs to you
belonged to me.
Yet, if I repossess my heart,
am I the thief?

Heartless, I was empty.
A thief, fractured.

The sale of a soul
is a tale to be told,
like a body of gold
is heavy to hold.
But the weight of
said soul is too much to bear
for the fractured, the broken,
the body I wear.

So if a broken heart
is unable to clutch
if this subject of brokenness
is a needle to touch,
then some soul is needed
to make this thought real
to be the stern of a ship
to match the strength of this keel.

But whole hearts naïve,
And broken hearts in writhe,
There seems no one around
To keep it alive.