"No more!" Said the little heart.
"No more!" It proclaimed.
I've been battered and wrung
trampled and flung
set o'er a fire inflamed
I've conquered the highest mountain,
only to stumble ineptly back down.
And dove the Trevi Fountain,
forgotten with coinage to drown.
Neglected, infected,
injected with lust...
But protected, connected,
corrected I must!
Is it too late to lick these wounds
and rest in a rib cage I trust?
Will this flesh unbruise
if given the moon
to dream under whilst collecting stardust?
