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B is for Racy Heart

I placed the pillow over my chest...
In an attempt to drown out the noise...
Didn't work...
Didn't take.
I could hear the scream and mauling anger beating against my rib cage yet when it finally got to my throat... hollow. I took the pillow from my chest and stuffed it in my mouth; month old saline gripped my tongue yet when I opened my mouth... nothing. None. No scream. No mauling anger. No rage escaped. No evil fled. Instead, I got the nurse saying my pressure was high. A state I often pondered on.

I figured, "since you won't come up, I'll send something down..." To drown your arse. Four shots, five wines, three schnapps, one rum punch; the bottle not the glass. Still, BANG BANG BANG BANG... (one) BANG BANG BANG BANG... (two) BANG BANG BANG BANG (three) The pounding of racy heart on rib cage continued.

"Would you please shut up?!" I say to my chest. Deep breaths; in and out and in and out of this hellish mindset, or heartset. It won't come out and I won't get down. ...

Maybe it wants to dance. Maybe the angry, racy beatings were the echoes of a song long forgotten. TOUGH, I want to sleep. And the last time I cavorted with my rage, the pipe broke. Not metaphorically; the old, near rusted over pipes that held the hose together, broke.

"Get some sleeeeeeep!" I groaned, punching the pillow on my chest to rest.
"Give us Youtube."
"I'll stick a tube down your throat!"
"Give us YouTube. YouTube has music. Music soothes the savage so the town can sleep."
Who was I kidding, it wasn't coming up today.

I cued up our truce. One day I'm gonna scream the feelings out. For now, Coldplay. Lyric video... And sleep. Rest from a racy heart.

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