this imploding heart

try to kiss her I bloody my nose

If I dress your pain up like a bengal tiger and build you a 3 ring circus, you've got to at least aim for the net.

I have only got this screwdriver.
I have only got this thermos.
and only this book of monster jokes, but if you've got an old t-shirt and frying pan I will make you eggs and fried spaghetti and let you cry as long as you want.

. There's a tribe that makes this noise into your chest and it's supposed to make your heart feel better. The vibrations are supposed to shake all the bad out. I am making up noises. The noise I am making into your chest isn't low and gutteral. The noise I am making is Get Up Stand Up Come On Come On Come On Lets Go Now. Because I have also been trapped at the bottom of this well and I know you smell her everywhere but the wind is bound to change. I know she is stuck at the back of your throat, so you've either got to start coughing or choke to death. I'll wrap you up in twine to help you hold yourself together. There's no shame in a little string. My shoulders are still hinges of copper brads and super glue, but they're getting less mechanical every day.

"It's funny. You think when you get your stitches out that you'll be all healed. You're not. There's still a wound there that people could poke at."

"They want to be sure the stitches don't become part of the skin, right?"

Posted by Sonya at February 21, 2003 09:05 AM