when i was myself

i am stuck on the string i threw
to now
in a time when i was myself
and she is still hanging on for her life

she doesn’t move,
there’s nothing there but string
and i bury pride by tugging
so she’ll be okay


gladly wasted

i’m a black hole heart
greedy for the best
this mask is three years old
it’s perfected;
she’s validating and she’s poetic
with time gladly wasted
but a habit of counting steps forward
while walking backwards

6.00 am

i swallow fake medicine down with wine
and moments later i’m shouting from your rooftop
it’s love that makes me
sipping on champagne with your laugh around the edge of the glass
a plastic drink bottle in my backpack because i broke everything
but you woke me up in the morning,
‘did you make it?
‘did you survive?’
i swallow my good times back with flat wine
never enough, though