Ugh why didn’t I consider any of this prose before now? Another old poem/prose. My subconscious self might hate me even more than my conscious self does. My conscious self HATES me. I’m scared to discover what subconscious me thinks of me.


Do you feel it?

The strain. Pulsating web of pain.

Radiating from the hole where my heart used to be.

I feel like you have to

You have to be feeling it

You said you felt all the stuff before, all the good stuff…

so why wouldn’t you feel this?

Did you feel it when my heart broke?

Or was it a lovely kind of pain–

pain that brings elation.

Free, easy, ripping sensation

A delight, like a bite on your nail

or a whip on the rear.

Did you smirk a bit, when you felt it?

I haven’t felt. Since.

Well, the pain is here.

Other feelings? Not so much.

I hope you’re feeling more than I am,

I hope you’re feeling a lot.

I wonder if you’ve been feeling my heart’s pangs

They wrench and grip and hollow me out

I don’t think I have a heart, anymore

Just rhythm and rage

improvising all night and all day

It bangs and bangs and bangs and bangs

Betrayal has a rhythm

Rhythm never lies.

I should’ve just bought

a fucking metronome

and masturbated,



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