over you. The same hand that patted me
on the back slaps me in the face, The same eyes
that looked into mine so lovable show detachment
the next time we embrace. I run away and then

come crawling back home. It hurts to stay. But it
kills me to be alone. One day I’m filled with
elation and song. The next time I’m consumed with
contempt and can barely get along. How can

the same person who once held me up make me
now so furlong? Once I was baking chocolate cupcakes
and sitting in your lap. Now I’m frying the contents
of my brains in a 2oz. shot glass. I used to believe

love was healing. Now I’ve come to know it
as a weapon of destruction. And the fall-out reduces me
to a trash can of burning leaves. All the colors bleed
into black char. And the night rains ashes instead

of water. I feel as a stillborn. I was alive when I
was incubated, safe and warm attached to the cord –
the same one that strangled me. I died the day I was
born. Some things aren’t meant to be.