There is not even a single drop of blood left in the wound of the heart; we have thoroughly shown it and verified it for ourselves.

Here, the poet captures a state of utter emotional exhaustion, where the heart has bled so much that not even a single drop remains. Having laid bare their deepest wounds for the beloved or the world to see, they realize that suffering itself has dried up into numbness. It is a poignant reflection on how repeatedly displaying one's pain brings neither healing nor sympathy, only the stark awareness that one has nothing left inside to give.