I want to dig out this beating heart
with my palm and dig my fingernails into it,
squeezing till its unrecognisable,
and see blood overflowing on my skin,
the contrast of the thick red liquid against paleness,
and feel the physical sensation it'd cause,
a painful kind of release,
of a different kind of ecstasy.
Sometimes, when things go wrong, crawling into a hole doesn't seem enough. Anger, anger at self can be such an ugly feeling.