Each night
when I attempt to close my eyes
and let sleep pull my lids over reddened retina
like the comfort of my duvet.
I am troubled by the sounds of shattering glass
the hearts of men breaking.
The hearts they only realized they had
once my presence turned to memory.
It was already too late, when we met
because commitment
is a pill stuck in the back of your throat.
You were ridden with fever long before
your cure splashed into acid
circulated continuously in your capillaries.
To the party, you arrive with your hair
styled from your bed, and aching in your head
coughing up mucous and phlegm, vomiting up
I love you's that were swallowed
like sour milk.
The cakes been cut
the presents torn open
Party's over. let's clean up this mess.
You are late again
grab a broom, make yourself useful
I love you is useless
to confess.