The broken glass upon the floor is only there to demonstrate the way things turn as a result of natural inability to keep the focus at our feet instead of leading us astray which goes part way to explain the pleasant feeling from my wound.
When artifice is not enough to get you through, a second more of this pretence is sure to get results and help stem the flow, at least for now, until its time to paint the town a dazzling new shade of red.
And if I only had one chance to illustrate the story of just how I murdered my insides and pulled them out for all to see, the time Id spend with pen in hand would pale in comparison to time Id spend on wishing that Id cleaned them up before I cut.
No feeling can beat me or cave in my belief, Ill take this as reason and keep on with this thing.
Take my hand lead me on through all the rooms that make up who we are.
And in advance I apologise for breaking more than just a simple heart.
I guess when youre as empty as this rotten shell it hurts