she was a bird on the water
she was clouds reflected
she was trees sighing in the wind
she was sunlight through Venetian blinds
she was dust motes circling lazily
she was Sunday morning ***
she was smiling at me in the mirror
she was bonfires under a pale moon
she was tidal waves of emotion
she was whirlpools of conviction
she was typhoons of jealousy
and I was there too

she is the silhouette of a cigarette pressed to my teeth
she is my shadow cast behind me in the setting sun
she is blue-tinged smoke silently filling the room
she is burning my eyes like chlorine in a crowded pool
she is bars of the cage where my mind is kept penned
she is electric fencing wrapped around my heart
she is buckets of tar drowning me in my dreams
she is written in cursive on the insides of my eyelids
she is slowly shriveling my liver and blackening my lungs
she is living in all the mirrors I look into
she is becoming brobdingnagian prose
maybe that's just me but,

I'm not there anymore.
So why is she still here?

I broke three wine glasses this morning.

It was all your fault-
I was immersing myself
in bottles of numbness

when suddenly-

Your voice was ringing in my head your eyes were
staring right at me your fingers were touching my face your
eyelashes were tickling me your lips were curled up at the edges
your whispers of promises were in full volume your scent is driving
me insane your head was resting on my shoulder you are all I
see, hear, taste, touch, smell.

You were everywhere.

I broke three wine glasses this morning.

At the end of the day,
I’d have broken everything into a million pieces
and you’d find my house in ruins.

You’d find fragments of the moon
and pieces of the sun on
your way home.


I may break all the wine glasses,
the houses, the moon and the sun,
but it is still nothing compared to
how broken I am.


-m.j.a