I set up my words like dominoes, little rectangles with bone colored dots. Like dominoes they are flat and stack and fall. And like the dominoes mom bought at Krogers, they are plastic and crappy. You broke my heart, motherfucker. So now I'm using the word heart like a retarded Disney movie. Think with your heart, Simba. But still, in my chest, under my ribs, in the milk space of my small boobs, it feels broken. It feels like I swallowed glass that's now embedded in my chest cavity. With the stupid heartbreak from before I'd always mark a point in the future and know that by the time I got to it, I'd feel a little better. All the pain from before was finite. My fragile rowboat floating through time comforted me. But nothing comforts me now.