Has the heart no anchor? Has it no weight that any loss, lie or love can rip it right out of a chest? No, my heart is weak…as is yours which is why we wear ours stitched to our sleeves and allow our wrists to bleed.  Fear not the crimson flowing down my fingers for my heart is only broken. Rather, fear the day that dripping blood is no longer my burden to bear…or my pain to share…for when my heart’s last thump sounds, you will know that the underworld is mine for the taking and when they meet me, I will torment those who could not hear us crying in their mortal forms. Deaths will they suffer over and over until time no longer exists…their anguish will comfort me…and there, in the dark pits of the underworld will I be truly happy. Laugh now…for when my candle of hope flickers out there will be debt to pay. As of now, you are but howling winds…tread softly. Dread the day that I cross over.
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Do not be in a hurry to cross over! I know you’ve heard all of the clichés and you are too smart for bullshit.
Just last night I wrote the line: “I tend to see everything clearly, except myself.”