Intertwined Mishaps

I stare at the brown river and my heart just falls out
Still beating on the ground
Causing an earthquake
I bend to pick it up but my quivering hands can't quite grasp it
And the rocking earth prevents me from standing still
It rolls underneath a rose bush
And I say, "What a cliche? Surely I'll be cut by these thorns."
Instead the bush turned to ice and my hands froze inches away from my beating heart
Just out of my reach and I use my last breath to sigh