You should have changed the locks

Because now I’m wandering into your house drunk every night. 

Believe me, I know. 

I know how you met her at the coffee shop when you accidentally spilled your drink on her new blazer. 

I know how she laughed and you swore her eyes sparkled.

 I know that after your fifth date, you asked her to move in. 

I know you took the remnants of my things and put them in the attic. 

I know she sleeps on the right side of the bed, my side.

I know,

I know I’ve been replaced 

I’m hurting 

I cry tears of vodka and gasoline, for the desire to burn has become too much 

How to Know You’re In Love

It keeps you up at night. 

It’ll make you glance over when he’s driving, and boy, you’ll smile.
Sparkling bubbles and perfume in intervals of mist fill your mind. 

You’ll wake up yearning for him beside you.

The coffee that once tasted bitter, 

now fills your mouth with a welcoming taste of home. 
You’ll have his scent memorized. 

It’ll create a charismatic color in your mind that shoots vividness into your veins. 

It becomes your drug. 
He’ll leave his shirt, 

and you’ll wear it all night in hope to feel his touch circling your back and pulling you close. 

You’ll regain a passion for forehead kisses.
On the days when you’re not happy, 

he’ll pull you close and whisper sweet nothings into your ear while playing with your hair. 

It comes in the simplest forms, yet can swallow a person whole. 




Hands Are Reaching For Me

Hands are reaching for me.

I scream so loud but empty silence spills from my mouth.

The darkness swallows me whole, pulling me under the waves. Collecting my last breath.

Putting it in a locket for a lost lover they’ll never see.

Maybe that’s why the world is cruel.

Maybe it’s because we take things from others that we desire for ourselves.

Endless wants. Greedy minds and thoughts trickle down the streets, filling the system with poison.

Killing us all.



When I find myself at a loss for words, I turn to your lips and drown myself in your youth.



A brown, pasty mud covers the foot.

The air is cold, which causes a shiver that shoots lightning into your spine.




The anxiety screams at you to run. Run faster.

“Go,”it shouts.

You take off into the pitch of night, never to be seen again.


Some say the woods got the last of you.

I know you took the time to become friendly with them.

They lent you a brown, muddy bed.

The air got colder and colder; the lights dimmed.

“Goodnight,” they say.