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My heart, this tortured, overused organ of such joy and sorrow, clangs like a rusty drum when I dial your number. I would muffle the brass clappers with the velvet of love and the voile of soft, sweet comfort. If only I could. You can see the night sky through the holes, but I think the rivets will hold. A threndony pours from the poorly wired speakers. The power strip behind the stereo is split and the cords are vermin-chewed. I leak methaphors and self-loathing. Fuck you for loving me.
The prayer of the fuckup, of the heartbroken, of the one treading deep black water over nasty things with too many teeth. Let this fade. Open the windows on this creaking rusty drum where my heart was, blow out the cobwebs, scrub the strange stains from the floor, burn the pictures of you tacked to the walls. The floorboards may pop and snap but the foundation is solid, for now. Throw wide the doors, open the sluices and rinse out the room behind my eyes. Smash the projector that plays my worst moments with you, throw these tacky costume jewelry manacles on the floor with the bits of plastic and loops of film showing us divided. Sweep it up with the dust and the echoes and throw it in the alley behind my memory. Pull down the black brocade draping the mirrors and front two windows. Crawl down the shaft to my subconscious. Open a thousand drawers to find the dreams of gray blue OxyContin 80's, the color of his eyes, sweet nothingness in a fine white powder, the coating dissolving on my tongue like a million dollar piece of confection coated self-indulgence. Tear them to shreds and leave the mess on the dirt floor. I will do my penance, but this must fade. Otherwise, I'll be a hollow shell, lining up a hundred Percocet at a time, taking them two by two, not caring if I wake up, not caring who cries. Edit: Emo as fuck.