Pistacho
I snack, we drink
The crisp green
Seasonal spring funny thing
This time last year
The ides of March riffed so much differently
I loved myself significantly less
As I bent myself forwards, backwards,
Down the sides
Deep below the great layers of the Earth
And sang lies to myself about
Who I could be
For him
Him
Or him.

I piled my hair into space buns
A bruise on my nose
From picking too hard at black heads
I've got 70 dollars to my name
But I post a picture holding
A dry ***** martini
Looking like I've got it
Looking like she's got it
Looking like me.

The text formulates to encompass the screen
The screen moving making magic things
Directing into the sunrise
The snow thick in our boots
Smoking **** into the ice
Feeling the rise, the surprise
I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

That doesn't make it easy
Or make me always entrust
In the pain that's found it's way to me
My cat strider and I
Dozing, oozing into the tub
I free write
Into the morning light
Because I can.