Between two expanses of obligations lies nowhere time,
It’s one in the morning and my breath smells like something slipped into my coffee
But I’m up anyways so there’s writing in scattered papers,
****** lips from biting, and jagged nails, too.

Winter eight through eleven was filled with things I don’t remember,
Now Mia in a white dress says she won’t be back next year
And suddenly everything is laid out so clear:
Eighteen months and the only difference is where I put my stuff,
Family is breaking and a straight face is the only way to save one.