the lovedrunk cowgirl

I closed the curtains.

I threw away the sheets.

There’s nothing to hold onto 

and there’s nothing left to make me bleed. 

Last night I drove with the headlights off-

I lied and said I didn’t notice 

but I sped up as soon as I did. 

There’s not much life in me- 

just your name, your eyes, and the heart of a kid. 

I’m wearing the sweater you gave me and

there’s a half-packed suitcase in the backseat.

A joint burns between my broken lips.

Metal lingers on my tongue.

All I taste are the words I want to say.

All I can breathe is yesterday.