This sucks. So bad. I hate my writing style so much, but every time I try a new one out, it feels sort of ... I don't know, lacking? Whatever, I have no clue what inspired this, but it sucks. Why did I post this? Meh, whatever, if any of you people can enjoy it, knock yourselves out.

Paper heart beats in a cardboard chest, soaked through by tears brought forth by memories of a forgotten yesterday, still dripping down porcelain cheeks.

A paper heart in a cardboard chest. A thread brain in a porcelain head. A denim soul in a hollow body. All war, conflict between each other. The thread brain, so easily tangled and unraveled, tells the paper heart and denim soul that what they're doing is pointless, fruitless, futile by all counts.

But the heart and soul cannot let go. They know that it is needed, necessary, but to let go of such prominent, such permanent, memories is like letting part of this very being secrete away, drip and spatter on the unforgiving ground. In other words, it is impossible. Just like it is impossible to live like a puppet on strings like they are now.

Heart and soul unwilling, the brain tries instead to soothe the dull ache resounding in empty, hollow space. It does so with splintered, faded illusions, letting the heart and soul grasp at empty air, sink their non-existent fingers into clouded mirages.

The brain knows the heart and soul can't last forever. They both are too intertwined with what is long gone to even hope to be okay. The fatal knot, made with a satin ribbon and tied in a velvet bow, cannot be severed. It winds around the paper heart tearing at it's edges, leaving fading imprints of forgotten memories on the untouched white where they cannot be erased.

Yes, the brain knows this, but what is it to do? The paper is so fragile and thin that if the brain tries to erase those faded ink prints, it will rip straight down the middle. And the denim is so worn that if the knot is severed, it will likely fall apart, with nothing more than those splintered, faded illusions to piece them back together.

So the brain remains quiet and watches and tries diligently to set things right, while the heart and soul continue to grasp at the air, content in their denial.

And eventually, as the time wears on and more tears soak into the cardboard chest until it reaches the paper and the ink bleeds and smudges and the paper is soggy and ruined and the denim shrinks because that's what it does and the brain has become so tangled by a never ending cycle of never ending, unforgiving thoughts and worries, that it just doesn't matter anymore.

Now it seems nothing can set this right anymore. It is a lost cause and now all the plastic emotions are lost in the tangled mess of the brain and the saw-toothed feelings have dulled and rusted in the soggy mess of the heart and all the naïve dreams have fled when the soul shrank and became too small to hold them all.

But the heart does not regret, even though the soul wishes different and the brain knows it is impossible. Because all the ink that ran and bled and smudged is still there, soaked into the paper mess, and the knot is loosened (just a little), a result of the heart's acceptance that there is no miracle that can turn back time, do things over, different.

In the end, the paper heart will always heal. Different, yes. Silent, possibly. Scarred, certainly. But it will always come back, bringing the brain and soul back with it.

Read and Review Please? The only reason I post my stupid stuff here is to get feedback on it from people who won't judge me based on my writing. So ... Pretty please?