Heart Attack

My heart is just behind me, following me all the time, attached to me by my veins which hang away from my chest and hold my heart tight.

My heart drags on the floor since a long time ago, maybe since I was a five year old kid, and that little girl drawing pretty houses took it out from me and let it there, on the ground, like a fish you’ve just fished and which desperately jumps on the floor, only to find that to do it just takes him to cover his sticky body whit dust from the ground; which opens his scales in order to pull some water and just finds the fresh and burning air which suffocates him and burn his body alive.

Since then my damned heart is following me. Like the edges of the trousers of trendy teenagers; so dirty and rotten, but still hanging from the whole piece of cloth. It drags on the floor filling it self with dust, and broken crystals, with hairs and dog shit.

Girls don’t love a guy who has a heart like that, and who one day, decides to take it from the floor to his hand, clean it and rinse it like a woman cleaning chicken for a soup, and present it to their eyes telling them “I love you”. Girls will never love such bastards like that.

My heart is on the floor behind me attached by my veins to my body and so full with dirt. I’d love to cut it away. Just with a fast slash get rid of it forever, stop having to drag his burden everywhere, but life says she will let me if I cut the veins holding my heart.

Some time ago my heat still had some hopes attached. But since some days ago I can see that they are all gone. They used to be like those old stickers that, when you are a child, you stick on the window of your room. The time passes and the burning sunrays and the water from house cleaning begin to break and rip the sticker away. First just one little corner that soon gets full with dust and small hairs flying in the air, then a little bit more and more until you find out that half sticker is already rolled up on its self, with its glue not strong enough anymore to stick on the window, but still good enough for trapping all kind of filth in the air.

The sticker soon falls completely; but most of the times before it does, there is one edge; a little bit of the sticker that refuses to detach from the window; but when you see it, when you just can’t stand anymore watching the sticker hanging on, a some kind of “detach all that which is almost detached impulse” makes you, with a fast movement, rip it away, once and for all from the window to then scratch the old dry glue remaining on the window’s surface. Now, my heart hanging out from my chest doesn’t have a single hope attached to it, and heaps of old dry glue to be scratched and removed.

I remember my heart was one day a shinny red balloon that for falling in love went out from my chest and flew up, higher and higher towards the Sun; so full with energy, so proud for being such a beautiful heart. It went so high that became dangerous, but the gas inside it, the power kept inside its delicate rubber skin took it still higher. Suddenly, without warning it exploded, and for several minutes fell from the sky and landed on top of a TV antenna. It hanged there for an eternity exposed to the Sun and rain, to nasty birds stepping on top ripping with their claws the already damaged rubber skin, and to stupid soap operas with silly stories arriving in high frequency to my heart.