Sad Pete has a thought

I need a new heart
this old one, I’ve worn it out
in grottos of trash, banquets of sorrow;
the new ash tray in the lawn.
If you don’t understand how to move
then you just lament. Iron another t-shirt.
And we’ll relax. Just sitting here. Utter torment.
Perhaps terror. Maybe it’ll just turn out swell.
Probably not.