I like toothpaste on my cookies,
Because it takes away the guilt
Of anything sweet landing on my tongue.
The government is always slapping labels
Telling me that I cannot eat
Or cannot touch the things that I want.
On a completely unrelated note,
I’ve been in the emergency room
Five times this week.
I’m trying to find an excuse to leave
But the pudding is starting to taste
Like everything I’m missing.
I found your name in my fireplace
From letters you once wrote me
Paragraphs to rival Hamilton’s pen.
I curled up among the ashes
And breathed what was left of you in.
I’m looking in the kitchen
And all I’m finding are cupboards bare
Nothing but echoes in dust.
I close my eyes and feel,
I close my eyes and feel,
I close my mouth and feel.
I breathe…
A week has never felt so long.
Moonlit Poetry 