I’d rather take ten punches in the face—
From a gorilla—than deal with heartache.
Even a giant ape fist leaves no trace
A few months later; and though bones may break,
They sure as hell heal quicker than my heart
Which bleeds, and bleeds, and (guess what?) bleeds
Because its toxic pain is off the chart—
Hell, vacuum cleaners can’t suck it away—
The venom of lost love, which floods my veins
Until my heart is full of cactus spines,
My mood is crappier than sewer drains,
And all my doubts are dancing conga lines.
Your heart may drink that up like sarsaparilla;
But as for me, I’ll go with the gorilla.
Copyright 2015 Matthew J Wells