My heart is broken. Or at least I think it is. I don't feel good, that's for sure. I feel like my heart has been ripped in two. It was once whole, but now, tragically, it is not. Is this what heartache feels like? My heart feels like it was thrown into a blender and chopped up only to have those little bits left mashed up by high heels on a cheese grater. I feel terrible. Is this what all those songs in the 70s were about?
Fuck, honestly, I should go to the hospital or a clinic or a back alley shaman. What happened was that I ate at this killer Italian restaurant tonight and had a whole lot of potato dumplings in this tasty vodka cream sauce with a few glasses of red wine and then later had Del Taco. The classy food is mixing with the cheap food, I think (but I'm no scientist), and it's breaking my heart. It's clogged or jammed or all kookily built. My heart is malfunctioning, you know, where it's not pumping the right amount of blood properly or something (I don't know, again, I'm not a scientist). The whole system of my heart seems broken. The heartache is too much for me. It's like heartburn is dry-humping a carpet of my chest and the static electricity is shaking the walls of my heart house. I don't wanna die, because that would, well, suck, but, if I did...I admit, that was a pretty killer two meals to go out on.
Or maybe I'm just being too literal these days. Literally.
Also, how often do you think hypochondriacs that like romantic movies diagnose themselves with broken hearts? Is it a lot? I bet it's a lot.
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2 comments:
Why would you do such a thing?
You tricked me into thinking that you had some revelation about your past or past relationships, but no, you're caught up in balsamic vinaigrette and Del Taco shredded cheddar cheese.
Brave man, sir.
You make a good point. I am SO brave. But you should know that my heart is as dead, cold and funny-looking as a clown's corpse.
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