blood from a stone (a poem by me)

I just got off the phone with a dear friend. Something we were talking about made me feel like writing this poem right now. I don't claim to be an awesome poet, so don't be mean. Just felt like sharing.
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maybe people have something like a gas tank
but it doesn't run on petroleum
it runs on love, or something like that
and there are times when that tank runs dry
which happens to all of us sometimes
there is no love to give
there is also no love to receive

and there are times
when our desperation wins the day
we see a stone as a beating heart
so we grab and hold and squeeze
trying to get even one drop of blood
something from that stone
so we can swish it in our tank
to keep going for another day

and finally there is blood
we let out a triumphant sigh
because we knew the stone would bleed
if only we squeezed hard enough

and in our rejoicing
we neglect to notice that
the blood we are seeing on that stone
is coming from our hands