On Breaking a Globe

Am I right to assume you could wash me away with the morning dishes? That though my presence fails to please you, it defeats you as well? I will tell you that all of these numbers and calculations lead me to the same conclusion time and again- to establish and commit is to doom and ultimately be the death of. Obtaining an existentialist attitude towards relationships highlights my inexperience and hurt. It's glowing inside of me, like a broken glass globe with shards spread through various parts of my body. Upon my dissection, I imagine, the doctors will be perplexed at the sight of my internal organs diffused with red bits of ornament glass, my glassy heart aching for some permanence or meaning. “I am resolute”, I will say, and get up from the table with my dead veins and teeming insides. I don't know where I will walk to, a dead girl with open insides, but maybe I will sew myself closed; swallow my idea of existence and live again. Maybe I will find you some day, and ask “will you wash away everyone, until the world is your sink of cadeavers? “