Cold December nights.
Street lights and an alleyway.
Slick wet pavement shines from what should have been her radiance.
Shoes off and she's boneless.
Body made of rubber from all of the forget-me-not poison she drank tonight.
Tattered clothes and a thrift store conscience.
Blackened lungs and a liquid heart.
It conforms to any shape man its poured into.
She's walking to the studio apartment she tried to make a home out of.
But she has failed because you made a home inside her mind.
She looks for you in the ruffled hair and pearly white teeth of every man she meets.
Lets herself melt on the barstool as they buy her another drink.
Cinderella went to the ball and lost her shoe, but she went to the bar and lost her mind.
Pointless conversations are the soundtrack to her life.
She's spent her days cleaning up the mess you made with vacuums and Prozac.
Tequila and a strong dose of denial.
When will you learn not to snap fragile things?
Sleeping in the bathtub,
tears become bubble bath.
Numb is a good word.
Drink is a good question.
And you are her truth.

Alyssa Szczelina
4-18-15