Damn Hole!!!

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There's a hole in my heart that keeps leaking forsaken thoughts. There's a hole in my being that wants to discover its cure. There's an insatiable frustration I have that stems from my work, my life, and my regrettable choices. It pains me that you have to use expletives to prove your point. Fucking fun?? Where did that come from? There must be more ways to stroke an ego without me having to apologize everytime I chaffe its vascular shaft. There must be an easier way to die of aneurysm without having to pass through the white light at the end of the tunnel. It gives birth to more misunderstanding. Damn hole. We all came out from it, only I, am less appreciative of maternity than is socially acceptable behavior manifested by a catholic boy. O pious callousness! O devine metaphoric! Can I be spared of this fumbling drama?
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Alas, moments ago I resolved never to ask questions I already know the answers to. It's so girly of me; to resolve when I hate following resolutions. The iamb need not speak, lest it queaffes toward menstruation. O, the blood of my leaking heart, my forsaken thoughts, clotting to a scab, healing to revelation.
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