Ashes.

Nothing fits together, the puzzle pieces burned up like hope.
Tear, rip. My paper heart lays among the ashes. Insignificant.
If there's any beat left, it's only steadily breathing "pick me, pick me."
Meant nothing in the first place.
Means even less now.
Residue of flames, blood, and tears.
Stained.
Forever on my skin, paper heart, and hopes.
Gone.
Like ashes in the wind.