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anyway i don't believe that feelings come from the heart, metaphorically speaking, because the heart is just a big blood sponge [squeeze in squeeze out] that just mixes up all your **** until you don’t even know what you really wanted in the first place but true emotions are half guts half ***** and a pinch of brains no heart involved
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i want to get drunk and i want to drive into the desert where nobody can hear and scream my ******* head off until my throat feels like raw meat and then i want to sleep on the cold metal hood of my car and play punk songs from the ****** car stereo and wake up at dawn to smoke cigarettes (but daintily like a lady with a vintage cigarette holder) with you and pretend that the world has melted behind us and we’re all alone inside each other’s heads, your hand on my fishnetted knee, my face in your chest, with no need to speak or ruin the calm watercolor morning