If Destroyed…

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.





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