If my heart was only built for a certain amount of heartbreaks

If my heart was only built for a certain amount of heartbreaks, I wonder which one is the last, which one will pull the final thread, all the colours of my fabric tangled and illogical, all the red criss crosses on my skin, raw and bloated with old blood. A final shattering of glass and light, impossible to repair, too many pieces to put back together. Will my heart ever beat again, not still, but not breathing, just one long tone, a phone line that won’t ring again, no voice will ever answer. I wonder if the day has finally come. I look at my dead father’s watch to read my own time of death.