There has, since time immemorial been something bothering me.
About the twenty four hours we call Valentine's Day.
It's not the anguish of loneliness nor the emptiness of my heart.
It's how much money we all waste on cards.
Flowers and chocolates, commercial emotion.
Fake hope, limited love, pointless adoration.
So don't expect some stuffed alligator painted in red
I'd rather pluck out my kidneys and bleed until I'm dead.
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