The Anatomy of a Break-Up
I choose elective surgery.
Yes, that will do the trick.
Make my inside match my outside
so I'm no longer sick.
First, I'll take my heart out,
remove it from my chest,
scrub away the pain of you,
but choose to leave the rest.
Then I'll pluck my eyeballs,
right out of my skull
filter them with shades of rose
so life won't be so dull.
Then I'll saw my head off
so I can see my brain.
I'll sanitize it thoroughly,
so no sad thought remains.
I'll sandpaper my lips down
until they've lost your kiss.
With no sense memory remaining
there'll be nothing left to miss.
But then I must peel off
every single fingertip,
if I'm to lose the feeling
of touching your soft lips.
I will plug my ears with tar,
so I can't hear your song.
And as my head grows heavy,
it's destined to grow strong.
Now I must plug my nose
so I can't be deceived
into thinking you are near
when at long last I am freed.
And I elect to cut
my tongue out of my head
so I'll no longer crave
the taste of things unsaid.
And once I've cleared my senses
of their memories of you,
I'll look into the mirror
and see my work is through.
But wait, something has happened!
I don't know what that is.
It appears something is missing,
for it needs a soul to live.
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