To choose between pain,
And losing you?
I’d rather it just never happened at all.

regretting that I regret us

Three day old
Store-bought mac and cheese,
That has been reheated
Twice
But the cheese and macaroni 
Have started to separate,
The cheese clumping together,
And despite the scortching corners
Of the dinner,
In it's store container,
There are large sections
That are as cold as the fridge.
It's like you warmed it back up
Using nothing but your
Low powered hair drier.
It tastes like poverty feels.