Yesterday I wrote my thoughts
with the overspill of red wine, and,
bandaids that fell from my cracked finger tips.
I wrote the words I hated saying,
I wrote the words I said too often,
I wrote what you said when your lips bled.
Your lips bled eight times that night;
your lips bleed when you lie.
I watched you scrape tobacco from
under your nails.
I watched you melt away like a candle wick.
Yesterday I wrote my thoughts.
I cut my hair with razor blades, and,
painted my lips that color you hate.
I burned my favorite photo of you,
I burned the tips of my fingers on the candle,
I burned the dinner I had on the stove.
Yesterday I spilled wine on the couch,
I wrapped my fingers in band-aids,
and I wrote.
I wrote about how your lips bled,
and bled.
But I won't write about that tomorrow.