(of broken hearts)

I keep saying that I was alright.
But then everytime I met someone who liked me I
would feel ruined.

Like the tunnels of my throat
has your signal lost
and the anatomy of my heart a hot ****** mess.
Its mixing up the hush from my lungs into my veins
reminding
me of how I couldn't talk you down.

It's like screaming without a voice.
*** without a body to begin with.
Love without actuality.

With time
they dissipate

no harm
but some broken thought

ash-tray philosophies; you
have a lungful

of sorrows.