What makes your heart beat?

Hey! You’re a dead man with a heartbeat.
I see that your blood is pumping in vain.
I see you, this dead man, who doesn’t feel,
Neither Joy, compassion or pain.
A heart of stone. No flesh to peel.
Rocks be more soften liken to thee.
I know you know you’re what you know I know.
A man of vile and vice.
Thirsty for the blood of innocent Women and kiddo.
Busting hymen like bubbles. Chewing girls like gums.
To be precise,
Even the flying bullets prove you hoodlum.
Guns and machete are your cutlery.
Smoothing necks surface.
You’d be chopping heads off.
You think to be man alive,
For your lungs are filled with air.
And the air you breathe is still fresh.
But little do you know that
You’re a dead man with a heart in bits,
Yes! Your heart’s throwing punches to your chest,
Finding a way to skip a breath,
In order for it to find rest.
This heart of yours has grown old and cold.
Shrinking so small like a goose bump.
You’re a dead man with no heart that beats.
For it was made to beat the sweet rhythms,
Called love and peace.
You silenced its voice,
Teaching it to hate and diss.

Tochi