question of the heart

What do you do with a heart that has stopped beating for love?

This is not a multiple choice question,
For your information.

For your information, also,
It's not really your heart I'm musing about;
It's mine.
You would have probably guessed as much anyway
By my tone of voice
And by the way I've placed my right hand
In position above where I assume my heart to be.

I assume
Because I've never actually opened the cavity in which it lies.
I've bled its blood,
But I've never seen its pounding rhythms.
Only felt.
But the feeling deeper than touch that could have been is gone, vanished.
Could have been.

Like I said,
What do you do?
What do I do?

I've stopped living for love
And as I sank into sleep last night
It was this image which made my eyes blink awake for one last moment.

The image was this:
A massive sledgehammer in both my hands.
I wield the end of it like an expert.
Standing, I take in a lungful of air
Then set myself down, lying on the ground.
It's done, I think.
And in response my force catapults the hammer's thick end upon my heart.
Bones offer no protection.

But I seek no protection, so it's fine.

I'm muted and at peace.

Le fin [de mon coeur].