If only I could have plucked out my eyes, and sat them on the table beside me, where they'd have an unobstructed view. They could stare forever, never blinking, and never feeling discomfort over their impropriety. "Not my fault," I'd have said. "It's these damn eyes. They seek out what's beautiful. I cannot control them."
If only I could have cut off my hands, and let them explore on their own. Set them free to roam those places where I dared not lead them. "Not my fault," I'd have said. "It's these damn hands. They go where they want to go."
If only I could have peeled off my lips and ripped out my tongue, and let them kiss and taste that which they'd craved for so long. "Not my fault," I'd have said. "That damn mouth, it's like it's got a mind of its own or something."
If only I could have extracted my beating heart, and let it seek out its mate. Let it seek the happiness that I'd forever been unable to provide. "Not my fault," I'd have said. "It's this damn heart. It knows what it wants, and it just goes for it.
If only I could have scooped out my brain, and set it aflame, and chopped it to bits, and smashed those bits into pulp. For it has always been my brain that's held everything else back.
Stupid brain. What a jerk it is. It ruins everything.