dregs

i drank down
your lies like
a washed-up moonlighter
nursing her
last bottle of sweet wine:
a pinot with
a pretty label and
a bargain-store
price tag whose
finish burned ever
so slightly at the swallow and i
should have known
the morning afters
would more than make
up for the high.

inevitable

pontocho, kyoto

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hate
is what happens
when you’ve cried
out in the dark
for too long
without anyone listening.
when you’ve poured out
every bit of your
soul and
the one you love
sits back
and watches it
drip through cracks
in the sidewalk.
when the fear
in your gut
feels stronger
than your heartbeat,
and no one is there
to assuage it.
when time passes
without healing,
no lessening of the cold
creeping up your bones
and down into your pride
from having been
shoved aside into the October mud
where no one helps you to stand.
when, in desperation,
you throw out words
like firebrands,
bright warnings
through your darkest nights,
shooting stars
howling the hurt
that exists
as every single second,
and every single one
burns down and
fizzles out, alone
and unanswered.