Who actually wants this worthless piece of shit?

Drowning on a broken boat,

No superman waiting to save me.

The sharks and whales greet me into their abysmal home
No amount of begging or pleading changes the judge’s decision–that kind of magic is saved for Hollywood

No relief against the pain; no softening the blanket of concrete beneath the fall
Your own life is worthless when it is sold for a penny and is still worth far less. For, who to stand beside and proclaim otherwise, even during the night of suffering?

None; for there the coreopsis sits, full of potential and power, yet the blooming flowers suffocate, all of them, into crispy husks, the beautiful melody forever whisked from their lips, the neglect soon to consume the stems and roots and destroy the entire body and soul of the thing

Consider not it strange, then, when the heart, the bastard piece of worthless shit that it is, is caged as an evil liar, and its pain sealed away with it, and permanent masonry erected around it as a fitting, isolated cell

Here lies heart. May it cause no more harm to its possessor, may it be forever in the abyss of hell’s torturing flame, may it feel the pain it causes the rest of us, without ceasing, and may no one think to comfort or console it

For I need it no longer, and desire for it has gone away with the final tide; for who needs a worthless thing that is always in need of fixing and never in possession of something able to fix it?

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