Photo by Jesus Eca on Unsplash
alone tastes different at night.
like starry skies and a fifth glass of wine.
like tears and dried mascara
unaware of the shadows below the deck
whispering, “we know you best.
you are not alone, rest your head.”
alone tastes different at night,
like eating everything in sight
and throwing it up before it can bite.
like bile and MiraLAX
like I cannot relax
until I’ve surpassed
my step goal for the day.
like 3 a.m. walks in the humid rain.
alone tastes different at night.
like a bad apple when I’m so hungry.
but it doesn’t matter if it makes
me sick – at least I ate it.
like watermelon rinds I suck dry
since they’re mostly water
and I swear, I’m fine.
alone taste different at night.
like cigarette smoke and berry cough drops.
like gulping my bleeding heart
back down my throat until it stops.
like trying not to choke
on my own hope
like a rock.
A poem from my newest collection, The Art of Starving, available now on Amazon.
Check it out here.
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