Au revoir, Valhalla

How can I tell the world how much it hurts?
It hurts, it bleeds.
And God is looking down at me. Gleefully.
"Silly bunny" he says.
Sighs and floats away.

It hurts, my friends. It hurts.
Don't tell me, I already know it.
I'm dumb, I'm stupid, I never learn.
And yes, I'll find someone else.
"You deserve better."
"He doesn't deserve you."
"You're stronger than this. You'll be fine."
"Go get a Marine, get a good bang-up."
"You need a drink and some pot."

(All are welcome to tell me what else I need.)

Oh god it hurts so bad. It's gonna be difficult to drive home tonight with blurry eyes...

The Saturday pasar malam and the murtabak.
My babydoll.
My hair.
The spuds with corned beef, no onions. Crispy popiah.
Green Citroen.
PJ Hilton.
Stupid cordless mouse.
Anyone wants a Perlini's silver bracelet?
Creme-filled Bavarians and Nicoise salads.
Water chalets.
Chris Brown, Marilyn Manson and gym tunes.
Carpets and underlays.
Migraines, sharks fin and Kahlil Gibran.
Transformers.
Arsenal and NFM Football Manager.
Thongs and spoilt remote controls.
Renovations.

Adekin Skywalker and her Valhalla.

...