It's the weight on my shoulders that has me writing tonight,
and the way that you look at me
with heavy-lidded eyes and half-curved lips
makes me feel as though
you put the pressure there yourself
and are waiting for me to fall.
I've crumpled to the floor too much to appreciate anything but the pain of this drawn-out seduction
and I have never wanted more than to touch someone's frown with my smile.

But that would be a lie.

Tonight I want to be one with myself
and admire the storms above me with a newly found solace,
but it is hard to look yourself in the eye
and mention that a broken glass
is still worth drinking from.