I am going to give up on love.
All I've gotten was a shove,
a dishonest kiss on my lips,
and a few sips
of the alcohol he gave me.
To be held is something I desire, you see.
Laying my head on his chest to rest
was a recovery remedy. A need.
I'm starting to think it's a violent plead
because last night, I grieved you,
and for a miracle, too.

K.K.