Put Down The Mechanized Steak Knife And Kiss Me You Dick! Day!
Oh the heart is open to such poor interpretation.
You flick the switch to its highest speed and you think, "All the better to be rid of this swirl in my belly as quickly as a serrated blade can shimmy through a trachea." You take one step. Another. What are you waiting for? Take the next step, my hands are in my pockets. Go on.
Open up my throat.
Or are you starting to wonder what sort of misery might fill the gaping hole where I used to curl up and murmur. Maybe sending my blood flying up in the air like a firework isn't what'll make it all better. Maybe you wanna slice into yourself, into your past. Cut into a million ribbons whatever stupid fucking glance through a keyhole you stole when you were three that left you destined to yearn with all your being for a cocksucker like me.
You hate who you are. I hate who I am. Big fucking deal. Put down the mechanized steak knife and kiss me you dick.