First, stick your hand down your throat and try to ignore the pain because this, my darling, is not the part that hurts.

Remember how it feels as it beats by itself: ba dum ba dum ba dum.
After you've memorized the pattern pull it out quick and easy and give him your heart.

Your throat will burn with the effort it took. Your eyes will water. Your fingers will tremble. And your mind will call you a silly little girl for the umpteenth time this year.

But it's not because you fall for boys; it's because you're still that silly little girl that wants daddy's affection. Your mind is calling you a fool for loving this old gambling drunk but you ... you like the way he holds your heart.
You do not realize the power that you have given him.

He squezzes it, tosses it around, throws it up like he wants God Himself to reach down and catch it. He's playing with it.
You fight for it back. You fight to keep it up and before you know it crimson covers your fingers, tears cover your cheeks.

You say if this is love you do not want it; he drops it. Like the beer bottle that shattered into millions of pieces, he leaves the mess for someone else to clean up. He leaves it for you to clean up.

It cuts you but at least you can feel.
You pick your heart up. It's in peices. Your fire. Your passion. Your love was never meant to be something that was easy to swallow.

It puts itself back together. Your throat closes it self off. You don't know if your alive until you touch your chest.

Ba dum ba dum ba dum