Hated

The scar tissue screams when it's ripped from the body.
Then it is tossed aside like moldy garbage, forgotten moments later.
You go on about your life,
and there I am, gasping for breath
My red ribs still exposed,
an empty void where a heart used to live.
Salty tears well up as my mind realizes what just happened.
It doesn't hurt yet, but little do I know, I am still dying.
Death spreads it spindly hands over me, and squeezes every cell until it bursts.
I can still see you for a little while, off in a corner in this vast world
you refuse to call for help.
To think, if you had just told someone
I still might have been alive today.