I have loved more often than I have taken full breaths.
The caverns of my heart that are left
Predating hints of depression that I ward off using the leftover vapors
Hiding under the covers with others
To escape responsibility.
Which vice shall I indulge in this time?
The bottle whispers to me when I’m faced with rejection.
It seems that pouring my heart into a shot glass is too much for some women.
They don’t like it straight.
So I pretend to be uninterested on dates.
I have to create the ruse that I have someone else to fallback on.
This is exhausting.
Rarely am I the destination.
Impurities trickle down my neck
As I wonder how I can hold her interest.
The bridge doesn’t easily connect.
As I breathe in her lust.
My lungs begin to fill with regret.