Those pills did a number.
You loved me bright-eyed and caffeinated,
and eventually we stopped counting the gray matter
ice cream scoops taken from our skulls.
Maybe if I had my whole head together I would have
I should have nipped it in your bud,
and you never would have talked to me
like that.
Before you
I never let anyone talk to me
like that.
Damn you damn you
and I soak my angst into the mattress --
(since your chest no longer lies beneath me)
university mattresses only made comfortable by a foam pad
that will probably kill me in my sleep,
wreathed in yellow pluming fumes,
but that's what college kids look for anyways.
It has been only one month since we stopped fighting.
Or speaking.
My latest mistake sleeps in my bed until noon,
and wakes every time I slide out
between floral sheets, in the night,
reaching for me.
"I just need to pee"
or cry, my head squeezed between your knees
in some aching yellow bathroom stall.
Adding your comment:
. Geesh Kier. You're certainly queen of the break-up poems. I always feel achy after reading these.
