Friday, September 23, 2011


Oh, foul heart, you are nothing if not cowardly and full of spite for the very body you reside in. How dare you think of her? Have you felt no pain, no shame in how we grovelled as she left? And what of my cries and desolate nights, are you so detached from me as to shield yourself from my torment? Would it please you if I took a knife and tore you from my body? Would you still be so devoted as to beat out her name as you lay on the ground shivering between my feet? I suffer you to live only so I can one day watch you cleave to another, and then it will be my turn to delight.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011


I don't hate you for what you've done--you're an animal, a beaten cur who knows nothing of kindness. How could I expect you to trust and be trustworthy when you've never walked on a rug that wasn't pulled from beneath your feet. I love you just as you are, but I think I might better appreciate the art that is you if I observed from afar--maybe I'll sign up for a tour of your life, a jungle tour, complete with a well armed guide and a porter with a stitch kit for broken hearts....