Your love was like the Barnum Effect
and though I thought you fit me
like a glove,
I learned you'd been worn
by thousands of other lovers
who'd thought the same exact thing.

When you think about someone so much,
your dreams start to smell like them.
And you have to wash your linens
because your sheets started to smell like them.
Had to get a grip because when you breathed,
it still smelled like them.
What I'm saying is:
love isn't love when you're without them.

My best friend was my Teddy,
I would hold him every day,
And when the monsters came at night,
He’d scare them all away.

My best friend was my mother,
For she kept me safe and warm,
And while she held me close at night,
I feared no hurt or harm.

My best friend was my father,
For he always knew the way,
And though my path lay in the mists,
He never let me stray.

My best friend was my baby,
And I loved her more than life,
And in my sweetest dreams I dreamt
Of making her my wife.

My best friend was the bottle,
For it filled the hole she left.
It numbed the pain, it dulled my mind,
It helped me to forget.

My best friend was the needle,
For it tamed the beast inside,
And when the monsters came at night,
I’d run from them and hide.

My best friends all deserted me,
I struggled on my own,
I said a prayer… to empty air,
And found myself alone.

And when I found myself alone,
A cobweb on a shelf,
I knew that no one, nothing could,
Protect me from myself.

I sought a friend, a smiling face,
I made a call or two,
And always heard the same six words,
“We don’t have time for you.”

My Teddy could not save me,
For the monsters proved too strong,
My mother tried to rescue me,
But couldn’t stay for long.

My father was asleep in bed,
He did not hear my cry,
My baby left me years ago,
We’re over, she and I.

The bottle proved a fickle friend,
And when I drained it dry,
The bottom held no answers,
And I could not see the sky.

The needle proved a traitor,
And the day I turned my back,
It slipped a knife between my ribs,
And everything went black.

My best friend is the reaper,
And I yearn a coup de grace,
I feel his breath, a shot rings out,
I feel his cold embrace.

Poetry is not synonymous for love.
Poetry is not synonymous for pain.
But I can make its words into an adjective
and use it to describe the tightening in my chest when I look at you
or the tightening in my chest
when you look the other way.

I thought I could drink poetry until the words started to curdle in my mouth