I don't care about broken hearts I've stepped on a few myself just to hear them sqeak. I'm not in the habit of sympathy. I don't care about any of the following: twinkling stars, Flowing brooks, illicit kisses, Or Sundays in Autumn when the sunswept dew touches the meadows in a glistening haze. All of these things make me puke. Nor do I care about death, everlasting eternity heaven and hell and the immortal vortex voiding your soul in an infinity of pain And by the way, excessive swearing does not make you a fucking poet, it makes you profane. Take my opinion for what it's worth The ravings of a hack who started writing yesterday. Dig and be you You're more than a rainbow bigger than death And more interesting than a seagull filled beach. Peace.