Torn crystal blue

Driven East, I've been sent West,
For want of trying she's never impressed;
A box of red roses sent back crystal blue,
My chest filled with passion but still in lieu.

I've exported a piece of my heart into hers
And though she can't feel, it'll never return.
The beats from my ribs pound dull and untrue
From the hole that's been torn and remains inside you.

Like travelling backwards on a speeding train,
Gazing upon what you've missed and has past.
Better, surely, to face the tracks;
What's never been, none can lack.

Yet there out the back the wilting rose
Has not yet passed when near's the hose.
But though the spray may raise the turgor,
Thorns may tear the hole yet further.