you'll be happy.

you'll be happy to hear that everything has fallen or is falling apart. while the world still turns, rotating the same axis as always, the children are weeping and the hospitals churn out more screaming and bleeding than sex can coerce. the sound becomes a presage of the current state of affairs and the affair you're carrying on the next state over will be abandoned once she tells you that she's happily married and has been for years.
you'll ramble about love but i'll tell you that you are just a toy, always have been and always will be. on a string, you dance; with the push of a button, you will sing. every song ever written about a broken heart comes from your throat and pushes past your tongue, teeth, and lips. you've become such a gudgeon of sorts, believing left and right that love is just under your nose and all you have to do is stop and smell the roses.
well, as the adage goes, the roses smell like shit around this neck of the woods and what goes around comes around.