A Hobby For Cupid

You plucked out my heart
And put it in your pack
It might be just a metaphor
But I'd really like it back

The blood doesn't seem to pump
Quite the way it did before
It just runs out the hole in front
Down my chest and drips onto the floor

So maybe it wasn't a metaphor after all
Maybe you literally took my heart and kept it
Placed upon pristine white butcher's paper
Folded up and firmly wrapped it

You are a monster after all I see
Love is the real metaphor here
A word you use when you take someone's breath away
Your knife at work as you grin from ear to ear

Another heart for your collection
For what is the biggest mystery
Placed in clear bell jars upon your wall
The largest collection in recorded history

In your house of polished floors
And walls of shelves
Glinting now in the setting sun
The hearts of a thousand lovers
Not able to take the place of even one

One real kiss to end the day
Just another ghost half seen out of sight
Another empty bell jar to fill
As you go out to prowl again tonight