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I can't really call it a heart
it's just a tricep valentine
forty five dollars of ink that I
can't even shake off or give back
what kind of a heart is that

the only commonalities between the two are
overworked mitochondrion
and oblivious dishonesty
but she needs this shape, she can't sleep

in a heart, but she can rest in the cleavage
of valentines, there's no blood
no beatings no escape routes
love, manageable


"She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
it weren't no answer but I guess it had to do
it's alright, I can't feel a thing"


Lucero - Can't Feel a Thing. I make no claims to any profit or ownership of anything ever.

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