wallowing

sadness is a streetlamp flickering out at the end of the path, sadness is a trigger for the buried childhood dreams stillborn in my belly, sadness is church bells and virgin marys and hallelujahs and youth group and bibles bibles bibles, sadness is the metallic tang in the back of my throat on the last day i feel sick, and i suck that feeling down with bathwater in my gin

sinners

i never had faith before you
i lost all of it
in your white mustang blocks
away from my grandparents house and
you told me you
fucked someone else
and i can taste the salt on your
skin, you asked me if you
could hold me one more time

and i let you

you cried into my hair and
i was sticky, i’m in the
cool bathwater now reading
plath and wondering
what it’s like to disappear, if i
could step off a train into –
but i know matter
cannot be created nor destroyed
and my matter
splattered on the front of
a metro bus won’t make you into

a faithful fiance,
me into a trophy wife,
or god any more real

it would just make me dead