Careless is the one whose heart lie beaten
on the floor.
His love is dead.
This is it and nothing more.
Sadly sinking in moral’s boat,
Sorrow yanks him at the throat.
And if his heart were in it’s chest, it would
be sinking with all the rest.
But there it lies four feet in front
to stare and condem a misguided lust.
“It was not I” preaches the heart,
“who caused this mess, more some other part.
If you insist on ingoring me to obey the one
you use to pee, then be forwarned you will not
but lust and lust and lust and lust,
and when your lusting all is done
you’ll end up the lonely one.
I will not stand it anymore. I’d rather stay out
on my own
than be broken one more time
by foolish wants and careless nights.”
And then he sees his heart is talking.
What is this, it must be joking!
“My heart can’t talk! I must be dreaming.”
And so walks on the heartless man
to see how long an empty chest will support
his loveless life. A life without love
just sex sex sex.