Poetry - Atrophy

my heart—
imprecisely sliced,
divvied into uneven thirds

but one injured morsel
each to myself,
to the East,
and to the West

i clutch mine to my chest
as if squeezing
will revive it

but alone it can't expand,
it can't contract,
and arteries atrophy

i feel sluggish,
stretched and strained;
drained and weary

idling in a bitter pool
of feigned indifference
and hidden heartache

until the East
reaches the West,
and pulls me out