ninety-three

I’m trying to have words pour out of me like I did before and it seems a kiss is only good for initial excitement and initial heartbreak.  Even my poems are sick of carrying your weight; it really must be time to move on. 

ninety-two

And as much as I don’t want to, I can’t help but think of what is so fundamentally undateable about me that repels guys to believe that I am only good enough for a midnight stroke and a noontime smoke.

ninety-one

My eyes start to sting in reminiscence and my head starts to shake in new found clarity. My head is spinning impossibly fast and my words are coming out impossibly slow. That's how we were, though, weren't we?

ninety

I hate the girl who broke you; inadvertently, she broke me too. 

eighty-nine

Lana del Rey spins on the record player and sweet wine makes my tongue feel like velvet. Bless the nights I’m alone, but not lonely. 

eighty-eight

Check me off your list, baby. Quickly, though, your new broad’s calling from upstairs. Wouldn’t want her thinking you didn’t care, right? 

eighty-seven

The worst thing you can do is make someone feel a worth they only dreamt of, and then slowly strip them down to less than they started with.