I dropped your favourite mug today.
I have the steadiest of hands,
but I thought of her name
and all the times you sighed it
into my pillow.

And face-down in a pillow
flooded with tears
is not heartbroken.

Heartbroken is seven drinks laced with ***,
and I can't breathe in
without seeing your face
and the room is spinning so much
and I forget which way is up,
and I dropped your favourite coffee mug
and I realized as it shattered into pieces,
I'm too tired to pick it up.