Butts lay scattered around the glass ash tray
That is the centre piece of the beer garden table.
A heart sits skew-wiff, etched in such a way
That reads S.M 4 V.C
I can’t help but wonder if they’ve already been destroyed
Put out like the two’s of a burnt down Marlboro.
The etch in their heart beats now entirely void.
Another scrap piece of paper to stow
In the top draw with the other past lovers
Who’s dingy strings linger from their memory
To the centre of your heart. Entwining with others
Who had tied themselves to you temporarily.
Isn’t the most important organ only a tangled mess
Just a big giant knot sat in the centre of your chest?
The sordid sexual encounters and fine bright romances
Are nothing but scattered wires with the poor advances.
Now look at your heart like it’s this goddamn ash tray.
Full of men and women who once felt bright and new.
Around the heart tray is where the people lay
Who spilled outside the holder when the wind blew.
From DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE by Luxx