Edit: This is my best piece until now. Enjoy!

Swim on the mosaic glass,
Maneuver through the Aldi aisles,
I suddenly wonder,
Where is my beating heart?

North sells lime and brine,
While South is for the poorly inclined,
Every part of the world sold,
in some rusty corner,
Guantemala, Ghana,
South America or Indiana.
Is it in the bananas section?

Torturously twitching clocks,
High above the moldy wall,
Tak tak,
Not the melodious lup dup,
Time summons its mallet,
"20:00" it cries, and me too.
Where is my beating heart?

Is it in those thick steel girders, 
Those skeletons sectioning a perfectly blue sky,
Or the giant metallic hands that hold it cold,
Can those weak-looking pincers reciprocate the same love, 
The heat their mothers had shown?
Or inside those giant boxes neatly arranged,
Where is it? Sherlock, take this case,
The case of the missing heart.

Or is it in the internet?
A copy of our own world in name,
Cooking gone wrong, cooking-porn mania,
Mr Beast sermons, Dr. Oz's chirpings,
Another cat video,
"Why are men getting toxic in telly?"
"Why feminism is robbing Hollywood?"
A dog video,
"20 different schemes to make money."
High definition AI dog videos,
"10 ways to keep your relationship safe and healthy."
"10 reasons why you're probably psychopath or a sociopath or both."
My feet turbocharge away from the slot-machine hell.

Does it reside in the humanly chats?
Where every word thrust from every orifice,
Rush to keep the sham in place,
Plugging holes off the bath tub,
Tap above pouring just enough,
For it not to overspill,
Can't the waves tower over these calm beaches,
Crash and swirl its golden dirt.

A question still haunts,
What even is my heart?
Those thumping machines,
Running without oil or gasoline.
Slowly out of phase,
After running with the register,
Crushed under the grocery stroller,
Silenced by the thundering clocks,
Taunted by the girders,
Forgotten by the ever-running,
Finally shamed by the modern.

My heart feels the squeeze, 
Aching for that hour,
Sun makes a heavenly tour,
Melting boundaries one by one,
Show no hands for alms.

Why can't I just let you go?
Of how you want to be.
Like the Sun, your dear old friend,
Riding the fresh air, 
Bursting with the hot and sacred.