Heartaches that shimmer through my bed every night. Cold stones, broken bones, a red eye to Las Vegas with no cash and a knee splint. Sober days, sober nights, and what am I even doing here? Curse words, funeral pyres, judgment days, chattering teeth on the horizon and a disco ball lodged in my bedroom walls. I swear I’ve seen your ghost before, in a black and white film that I watched on late night television while I was high on *******. Dragging lakes, settling into graves, a judge pardoning a man I’ve never met. A night in New York, a terrible flu, thoughts about how the 1800s are as foreign to me as your smile in the reflection of a second hand microwave. I’ve been driving all night and all I’ve found were water towers and gated communities; summertime, brown grass, sprinklers and hands clasped together, all staring at me from a Polaroid I found in the neighbor’s dumpster. When’s the last time I’ve seen a star, when’s the last time I’ve put the pieces back together? A broken jaw burrows underneath the pool in her backyard, she was always so rich, always so well put together, I’ve seen her on infomercials, in dreams, her hair litters every empty elevator in Seattle. Romantic getaways, wind chimes, the sound of an ex fiancé wringing her wrists underwater. There are so many sounds down here. I’ve stuck a needle into the corral reef. The earth melts around me and all the stars slice ancient limericks into my bones. I found heaven last night in her backyard. It was shards of glass half buried in the grass.