A little something to counter-balance all that love flooding the highstreet today.
This is how my heart was broken
It wasn’t so much stamped on as left underneath a cushion on a battered sofa until someone’s aunt sat down with a loud rude sound.
It wasn’t so much burned as found in the ash-tray the morning after - wearing a coat of grey dust and smelling of spilled beer.
It wasn’t so much smashed as left with a crazed glaze like old china, or a starburst like a bullet through a cartoon window.
It wasn’t so much chewed up and spat out as held beneath the tongue till body warmed and malleable then taken out and stuck beneath the desk for someone to find clinging to their trousers on another day.
It wasn’t so much broken as neglected, abandoned, defaced, deflated, lost.