Chatter
I’ll cut this heart right from my chest
To stop its pitter patter,
And give my waking mind a rest
From the endless chatter.
I’ll tear it from this living mass
Of a crudely built design
And bury it beneath the grass
So that the worms may dine.
I’ll walk away and leave it there;
Out of sight and out of mind
To halt its ghastly love affair
For which it was designed.
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