Vital Organs

I don't want to keep having to put myself back together every time you don't call.

I am pretty sure that alcohol comes with the label "Heartbreak Super Glue" for a reason, but I've never really been one to test theories.  Okay that's not true, I'm all too familiar with the warpath of curiosity.  I could put the blame on you, but it's me who keeps breaking my own heart sitting here waiting.

None of my organs are on speaking terms anymore.

My brain absolutely knows what an insult to my intelligence all of this is and collects facts to make the pain stop screaming "Fuck this" while my broken heart bleeds out into the bottle of tequila my liver perpetually consumes to disinfect and drown the feelings I've never gotten used to hanging around like some gang waiting in a dark alley to cut me deeper than your lies did.

My eyes keep trying to force every memory of your face down my throat and it's not having it.  They want to rage rivers but my heart and brain are giving the tag team "Don't you dare" and since they've made the mistake before, they heed the warning this time.

My tongue can't stop longing for your taste and it lashes out in protest of teenage dream anguish.

My stomach is over this already.  Antacids are great, but so isn't the food that I used to be a fan of.

My nerve endings are screaming for the calm that just being in the sound wave as your existence brought to them, knowing they'll never feel that way again.

And the underthings, don't even get me started on what I heard through the grapevine regarding the coup they're about to stage.

And my fingers.....well honey, unfortunately nothing feels like you.

There's few sure things in this world.  Even fewer constants.  But the thing I'm most sure of is that once someone knows that they have you and it's not a struggle to keep you, they're going to find a new game to play.

Someone get the memo to my soul to stay out of it next time.