This heart is going to stop.


It may be a scarry sound next to a pub,
A silent scattershot in a shop to rob,
An exciting smell in a chemic lab,
Or a short nap in a taxi cab.


Only God knows how it will end,
Passing through that particular land.


But indeed this heart is about to cease.


It is the keen and slow pain that nobody sees,
The heavy carelessness bringing no ease,
The fast heart-beaten minutes I lose,
My non-existent ecography's hues.


Only God knows how it ends,
While I'm passing through all these lands.