Empty Box

I gave you my heart.

The wrapping was bad and it was far from new.

But I gave it to you. 

It had cracks, some bigger than others.

But I gave it to you. 

It still beat loud and loved all the same. 

So I gave it to you.

When you took it, I thought I’d get one in return. 

Though all I got was a empty box, where a heart once was.

You couldn’t give it to me. 

I would of accepted it no matter the condition.

But you couldn’t give it to me. 

I would have loved ever crack whatever the size. 

But you couldn’t give it to me. 

Because another had your heart still in her hand. 

So here I am. 

With an empty box.