Then this academic high-flier, Little Miss Sunshine, who was very clearly an endless faucet of happiness and fulfilment... she took her own life just a month after getting the exam results of her dreams. In her good-bye note she said she wasn't miserable- and I honestly don't believe that she was- but that, at eighteen years, she was absolutely sure she had had a good life already and didn't want to spoil that with a bad back and divorce.

There is something about the way you try to behave when you are holding me.
You pull my shirt down over my stomach
....and trace my hip bones so softly, all the wine glasses shatter.
You pull my hair out of my face, away from my neck,
And go in for the ****.
Kissing me into a secret heaven I never heard of in church. You're one sin I don't want to be saved from.

And I didnt believe in God until I felt your hands on my skin. Because nothing that perfect came from a drunken party accident.

Accident.

As if you could be anything other than deliberate.  Anything other than precise.  You take what you want, but share it with me until I'm far past breathless.

You fill up all my empty spaces, be it in my chest, my mind, or the prized gap between my thighs.
The bed sheets are jealous of how warm you keep me.

i wonder if the doors in the house you grew up in
started slamming themselves to save your father the trouble.
i wonder if you can remember the last time you prayed,
and if you had trouble unfolding your hands.
i wonder if your mother knows
about the collection of hearts you hide in your closet,
i wonder if she could tell mine apart from the rest.
i wonder if your shoes know the reason why
you keep them by the back door and not your bedside.
and sometimes, i wonder
if you ever think about that night when i told you,
you wouldn't need to drink so much if you had me.
but it seems like we only speak when you've got body on your brain,
whiskey in your glass,
your judgement is overcast,
and you know i'm too weak to ignore you.
i learned how to translate your texts
from drunken mess back into english.
i am fluent in apology, but i don't ask you for them anymore.
this is just how it is.
it's not enough for either of us
but ******* it we are not above settling.
so i will ignore her name on your breath,
and you will ignore the fact that this means something to me.
i always thought the first time i kissed you,
it would be on your mouth.
i just wanted to be something warm for you to sink into,
something that could convince you to stay a second night.
but i sneak you out in the early morning,
and you take a piece of my pride with you when you go.
i am left to nurse the hangover from a wine i've never tasted,
wondering how this is possible.
waiting for the next drunk call,
for the next time i get to pretend we are lovers,
the next time i get to live out the fantasy i am most ashamed of.
it is the one in my head where you want me when you're sober too.

- m.f.