home alone,
i sit down on the kitchen floor,
cradling my heart in my hands.

i see your face in my mind,
and my heart shatters in my palms,
a few pieces cutting my fingers.

two-thirds of a bottle of jack later
i don't feel the pain anymore.
everything's hazy, everything's blur.

then your face floats up
out of my sub-conscious drunkenness
and my stupid heart starts to hurt again.

i finish the bottle in five quick swigs.
there's a burn in my chest,
but somehow it doesn't hurt as bad

as the wounds you left in your wake.
i fall asleep, cheek against
the cold tiled kitchen floor,

and stumble back into consciousness
the next morning, swearing and groaning,
but with the daylight comes

the clarity of the memories
i've been trying so hard to push away.