A/N: This is the weirdest thing I've ever written.

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So it goes

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So it goes. Time had stopped for a minute or two, maybe to spite the world or me, but it stopped to be converted into hours when only a few mere seconds had passed. My mind witnessed how the birds stop flying and my feet being glued to the same, gravel path for a period in which time had been stilled by some cruel, sadistic force, but my mind was still running forever on and on, the same thoughts processing over and over as my heart broke, again and again. It stopped when I jumped off the bus that afternoon and landed on my knee while wearing a skirt too long to be swanky as the blood gushed out like the irony that is my life, again and again. It stopped when I opened the door to reveal the emptiness of my house, over and over, and it stopped yet again when I went over to his house to visit him, on and on. A quick hi-how-are-you-darling, to only discover him fucking that whore who always had it out for me. This is lesson #1 in life- the bitches always win. Never fight this ongoing factor. And then time stopped for a long time along with my uneven breathing, as I lay collapsed on my side and wishing desperately for a solution out of the solution that was suppose to save me.

Time had stopped because it had to. Time had stopped because it wanted to, the desperate miserable little shit.

And so on. I only wished for a second I could take back my life. If only I could go back in time where I was in my mom's womb, still kicking like the fucking kicker I am, and strangle myself to death so I didn't have to live the life I lead and be born a failure. Fuck what you've seen on TV. Love is a hoax, whether you want to believe it or not. That is the truth. This is heart failure at its greatest moment. This is a defeat for the little girls like me and a win for that same sadistic force which stops time whenever it feels like laughing at the defeated. This is lesson #2 in life- Don't wish for things you can't get.

Love loves company. Time loves love. And so on. This is irony at its best.

Do you dig the connection because I sure as fucking hell don't. This is a tribute to everyone who's been fucked over by love and time. This is a tribute to everyone who has stopped caring about life and wasted away with alcohol and heartbreak. This is to everyone that has been hurt to the point of heart failure. This is to that naiveness and ignorance, and then the break in the connection. The heart failure. The badump-fuck of life. Do you hear that? That's the sound of getting fucked over by everyone I know because the ignorance was too deep to see the truth. It's the sound of the second handle not ticking for a full minute or hours. It's love and time coming together to rub it in my face that I will never be good enough to be happy. This is me laughing in delirium at myself and the cruel joke. This is me laughing at you, because I feel sorry for the human race. This is me wishing you were the one dying of heart failure. These tears are for you, the jealousy that you're not dying like I am. And so on.

I walked around the bin. I threw up, promptly on my carpet as my vision swam before my eyes. And so on.
Over and over. I will be up and over this in no time, I hope. This is the broken connection of the bin. And I have this disease sometimes early in the morning, involving the phone, liquor, and the boy who fucked me over. I call his cell phone where I know it's sitting besides his bedside in that neat little room I loved filled with so much homely love that I never knew. The same room he fucked me over. I call him, knowing he'll pick up, just to hear his husky little voice in the morning and then hang up. This is the bin of desperate little chits like me. Someone, please throw me away. I've already been used. This is lesson #3 in life- Throw yourself away after you've been used.

The bottle is slipping out of my hand. Whether it's wine, vodka, or beer I can't tell. I'm too far beyond the side of reason. I am over the bin. I am drunk as hell, again and again as time flies by. I can feel the air from the minute hands moving so fast. It's like a fan. A time fan, beyond the point of explosion, over and over. Time and time again, such an element. And so on. This is lesson #4 in life- Drink until you die.

There is a reason for failures like me. It's so we can be laughed at. So, do your job my fellow heart failures. Be fucked over. You won't regret it. This is lesson #5 in life- Fuck life.