The rain came and we lost the trail
and I was soaked to the bone.
We were lost and hungry and my leg hurt
and all I could think about was that cute way you bite your lower lip

You threw your Iphone at my face
and broke that vase filled with purple marbles
the night we made out in the library
and you tasted like that peach liquor

I blacked out thinking that no one had ever taught me how to be a victim.

Down a scramble of broken boulders
and moldy trees filled with phosphorescent algae
was a whiskey bottle,
smoky and smelling of cheap cinnamon.
The alabaster glass split the sunbeams
into a cheap font like Comic Sans
onto a piece of pink granite.

I hate you.

Your text read when I woke up.

Then that night when the city died down you called me from the bar
and told me what you were wearing;
told me your roommate was at her parent’s place.
I could feel that smirk right then,
dripping with power,
a coiled cobra,
knowing the mouse is heading her way.