Throwback- Heart Tartare

This is from my old blog, which I've been looking over. I really like this one.




i believe my heart to be like an egg- over easy. if i took it out and placed it in my palm, it would jiggle around- fragile.



and if i took a cold steel knife and caught one of the jagged grooves lightly on the surface in the center, some sort of substance, some sort of emotional matter would bloom from the tiny hole and it would all ooze out. it would be so delicious and beautiful that i would almost forget the gaping hole in my chest, veins fraying outwards like cords as if a burglar stole my entertainment system. i would take the knife and thinly slice like heart tartare. the pieces would be translucent and pink. raw tuna.



how would it taste? this emotional matter is sure to have a unique taste. maybe like saccharine or maybe like earth. not grainy, but silky smooth like an oyster. i would pop it in my mouth and roll it around, feeling a sort of fullness and satisfaction before taking a bite. the matter would burst forth from the puncture and rush out like a broken dam. my tongue would be coated with something fresh and dead feeling, all at the same time. fresh and dead feeling. i have no feeling.



all the while this is going on, warm and brackish and thick blood is flowing from that hole in my chest, slow and syrupy. it's tickling my body as it comes down in strings. i need a wet paint sign. the pleasant warmth of the trickle contrasts nicely with my own progressively colder skin. my own progressively more lifeless body.



the trembling comes in tremors, but i don't even notice.

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