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Submitted on
August 6
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I wrote you a song,
but you'll never hear it.
I found the heart you lost,
but I've decided to keep it
because compared to all
that you've stolen from me,
this is nothing.

I'll hang it on the zip lines
and take it to heaven and back;
then I'll leave it out to dry
on the telephone wires
with the bloody sheets
and aching memories.

You'll see it again, I promise,
but it will be just as mutilated
as I was the day you came to me
and you won't recognize it.

Then you'll know what it feels like
to produce nothing but
garbage.
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