Deconstructing Hearts

Deconstructing hearts,
Hot hands stem the bleeding
That hot hands made.

Driven,
We clockmakers work,
Taking these mechanical, 
Off beat,
Sick 
TickTick
       Tick
Tickings;
Unmaking 
With drunken precision 
And muscle memory.

These are familiar grounds. 

We reek of apathy
In the moment,
So we tell ourselves,
Or some similar [non]feelings.
It's the smell of winter winds,
And distance in the air.

But we are dog-eared,
And beneath it all
We smell of mothballs.

With winter winds we watch
As we take them apart,
Deconstructing hearts --

No Novocaine,

No,

We are purists.

Dissecting:
Searching through secrets;
Dark grains
Grinding against gears;
Acid eating away
At the pace of the lies.

Deconstructing hearts,
We wounded soldiers,
Pain for pain --

Bitterly we leave them in pieces.