I hate when hearts break.
That moment when something is said or done and from it you literally feel your heart and it just doesn't feel the same.
Just like a tambourine hitting the floor, reflecting the way you love with no bounds,
That ecstacy of emotional perfection has a mirrored emotion.
Just like a tambourine hitting the floor, a loud crash,
so does the beat of your heart when it's been broken into pieces.
Falling to the ground,
Capillaries, blood vessels, muscle tissue, all of it breaking because the impact is just too much.
Similair to a hand or leg, a heart takes time to heal after it's been broken.

It breaks, you panic, and you rush to the doctor.
He takes a look at the damage and says,
"Hmm, mam. I'm afriad this is a disaster. A beautiful disaster. Little did you know, this heart break saved your life. Because the exact moment your heart stopped pumping blood, it began pulsating something deeper. People everywhere felt your heart crash just like a tambourine hit the ground and transferred a beautiful healing matter to pulsate through your insides. You're coming back to life. Full, vivid, crazy, adventurous, beating, brilliant life and it's falling down all around you in a loud beautiful sound, just like a tambourine hits the ground."

Mae.B

New note not newt moot. Why does my gibberish wither before yours? How is to say whose is better, the bitter brother betters the spalding other. Trother. The same similair kurds come fro and tooth inanimately they become similar. Why is there such a contusion, a contortioning togetherness, a wheeling feeling of the sameness. CuddleU, the 23rd letter. Beforehand blending breezing becoming contortion torture out the statistics until it confesses.

Torture the numbers until it confesses. Tortillas go number if you cover congress confetti. Ficusification. Ficus - ification. A new world for a **** word. When whirred a bird stirred. And out of the air it dropped a word wart. A **** of glistening glee. Faceless plumbers into leather feathers of frictionless glass. Bumble-mumble beeseetch the forlorn. You like to slumber. You like to slumber yet you think you slick and on far. You so on but you so like to coze up to pillows and warmth yet acting like you above it, cuddle like froth on tea.

Vietnam vitamins - cheering in the rain, cheering for the beautiful sleet, this ****'s pouring, pouring all weekend. Chewing on the plastic edges of your houses, pearlescent and truth or dare icey pubescent? Ploob plebian. Can you tell if I have an idea or if I don't? Why is asking questions fun? Why is it enjoyable to enter queries like burrowing rats into others head houses? Let's be more confidant! Let's confide our absolutes. Let's rid the bore holes of braniacs and smack diapers onto our dripping jewels. I sack the funny. The funniest letter is R. Isn't that more interesting than asking the question, what is the funniest letter? (Rhetorical questions don't count.) I make an assertion. Assertions are so often seen as representative worldviews when they are so much more interestingly experiments, something different than asking cowardly questions. Questions are cowardly, they refuse to experiment with a possibility. The funniest letter is R vs what is the funniest letter? You see. You see? Use E. Ease E.

There is a giant globulous letter E sitting - no swinging along your eyebrow, tipping almost but stuck nonetheless. Your eyelashes are infused with rubber buttercups. Tears are made of holograms, and they drip from the hollows of your talcum-powder nostrils. Lips are a blend of cigarette butts and gummy bears, the very small, very hard ones. Cheekie weekies made of pressed sheets of peach fuzz. It took two seasons to collect that much fuzz. The last batch was made of belly button lint and ten years of eyelashes. Eyelashes are enormously difficult to collect because they are inhabited with mites which eat them. Therefore they actually seem to dissolve just as the very small piles are building. There must be a better way to complete the harvest.