A New Heart considers the depths of insurgent spirits, when a man may feel at the end of his rope, how he finds the strength to push forward regardless of moral implications or past history. It is the will to survive both physically and mentally, despite the circumstances, for better or worse...
This river of words has run dry, our sand has filtered through the hourglass like misspent youth, only the fine powder of memory remains. What difference is this soft word unspoken, this lonely hymn removed from its cloak?
I share this bloated mass, this ticking time bomb of tissue and despair. It pleases me to share it with you, ripped from its hulking chamber like a feral infant, every screaming pulse a dying whisper of regret.
And then it happens – my heart goes splat… a useless toy dropped in a filthy bucket of oil, a product of wasted time and energy – exhausted, lifeless, ugly. But wait… I do resolve, my work here is incomplete. I'm not ready for spirits and haunting.
I raise you from the ghetto of truth, one last kiss for the old man and his gin. I rinse you in forgiveness and place you back in your gaping hole. I sew you shut and throw away the key – no more love for this sucker.
Stretching, I blink. I yawn. My new heart curses this lazy resolve, yet I am whole again – a renewed being with savage indifference, a man with a pulse for reckoning and deep carnal sin.