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.