She sleep walks

from one

relationship

into another like

a drunken sailor

trying to get

to sleep in a

stranger's  bed.



titering here,

slouching there,

trying desperately

to hold

some kind

of emotional

compass.


but there

is none.


only jagged pieces

of  broken

" I love you's"

lying naked

on her

bedroom

floor.


pointing upward

pristine

testimonials

waiting

to invoke their

****** and

pointless solitude

on yet another

aborted

relationship.



it is a

nowhere

wasteland

between

heaven and

hell.


her personal

hereafter.


and from

the first step

out of

her bed

you bleed.

bleed deep,


and you

realize her

bed was never

a refuge


it was as

sacrifice.


and you

slept a

fool.