what am i doing?

it seems to me,
that our mind activates at
inconvenient times.

I didn't think about you today, until now that is.

Pushing through
the rough and tough,
I surge forward and use what little strength I have.
It didn't have to be big,
just very deep,
and I continued to shove through everything,
pushing away, the way one might do when one swims,
I pushed away.
Once the hole was deep enough,
I ****** my mutilated hand
down my clogged throat
and shifted around inside, searching with invisibility
what you finally left behind for me.
I had put it back into my cage,
I am only a slave owner after all,
just to put it here.
No use for it now.
You see where this little ******* got me?
Now I don't need it anymore.
I found it and grabbed it limply
as it half-heartedly (haha) began to
grow bigger and smaller,
like the way you used to when you were younger
when you breathed in and out of a paper bag.
I grasped it and stared at it for awhile, this
this thing that was once so
colossal and scarless and innocent and so
so perfect.
It stopped moving.
I threw it onto the ground next to its grave, crushed it, twisting my foot
to do away with this evil little spider that lived in me once,
and kicked all the guts into the hole.
oops, I forget a piece, a thing that vaguely looked like the right atrium,
and I kicked it in with the rest of the crap.
I shoved some dirt into the hole,
covering everything  left of this thing that I once called a heart,
and walked away.

Now just watch me come back a couple days later
finding it,
digging it up,
and force feeding it to my cage.

It took me almost a week to be able to fully grasp,
you were my boyfriend.
You were mine to talk to,
to hold and cradle right there in my heart,
a fragile glass cup to hold onto
and to never let go off.
I kept you there,
filled you up with my thoughts, my feelings, everything.
I gave it everything.
Even in times where I had nothing left to give,
where I was so busy I couldn't even breath,
I gave you 24 hours.

Now, I guess,
it will take me a month or more to let you go.
'Cause no matter how hard I try to drop
this intricate glass cup that I hold on for dear life to,
but yet so delicately and softly,
the ******* cup won't fall from my hands.
I can't drop it and run away,
nor can I let go at all.
Smashing it didn't work. Nothing is working.
You have stopped filling it up
with the ambrosia we call "selfies" and "texts"
undeserving words for this succulent and rich flavor
that once filled my cup.
All I have left are a few sips,
and with my greed,
I drink it all up.
The bottom is now my enemy, and it
glares at me mockingly.
I look away and try to release my terse grip on this
this last piece of you...

You have smashed my cup that I gave to you,
emptied it of your smiles, your texts, late night love notes.
It was left on a desk,
and you walked away.
Because you are that type of guy.
You wouldn't hurt me.
No one hurts me.
I hurt myself.

It's funny how,
even after you broke up with me,
I still think about you,
remember your cute little english accent,
and how I automatically without thinking
add 5 hours to my new york time
to get the English time,
like I always used to...

If only it was simple.