I’ve internalized my fate with you,
but ice trickles through my veins, itching to start a fire.
Just burn this fucking town to the ground.
Ashes, I’m tripping blindly through ashes,
stumbling over the bodies of the lovers
you’d dragged to death by stringing them along.
Jet black hair, a nose ring,
and a picture of us tangled in sheets etched
on the small of your back.
It didn’t quite turn out well, but
the tattoo artist was drunk.
I was three sheets to the wind
when you said I agreed to marry you,
and now I’m high over last night,
realizing life with you will be a fucking riot.
(© 2022 AC)