Stab of a thread

Have you had your heart stabbed?

The muscle shredded into threads of copious strands of blood, purple blood.

No oxygen lives there.

No air.

No breath.

The gasping is a precursor to more hate.

Ah, but the pen comes and mops up all the sanguineous fluid into a neat space of time... a paper, tablet, phone, a screen to the inner hardware of the heart.

That is where peace and love await for the end of the page.