mostly broken records scratch
and crumble like the newspaper i left out by the kitchen sink and then
you came home and smash my piggy bank.
i watch you from the bathroom night
light, illuminating regret.
it’s a silent sober stumble on
the rooftop.
still, we try to raise
it. i’m betting on all the lucky stars and
he’s taking all my losses.
around the corner she opens the
door to let the outside
inside. the
room fills with smoke and
mirrors - a failure to
ventilate.
i catch a glimpse of myself in one of them
and ask:
“are you coming to my
play date with heaven to
open my rusty heart?”
those sharp smiles feel better than
a frown and he said
“better luck next time!” or something cliche
something that cuts like a knife.
so i pulled that dagger out and whispered,
“you’re just a
charming nothing.”
and he walked away with all my winnings.