I drown my sorrows,
in dark fruit cider,
a dramatic Luis Miguel playlist,
and a bed that is so used to my heartbreak,
that it has learned how best to hold me,
so I don’t entirely fall apart.
I can’t remember who I was,
before becoming your plaything,
and though I strengthen as I sleep,
awake in dreams where I am enough,
to satisfy myself,
I always fall back into the next day,
weak and weeping,
waiting for you to want me again.
Held in my heartbreak,
comatose and crying myself in and out of sleep,
wondering what will become of me,
if there is nothing more.
There is just enough of me left,
to be disappointed again,
but who knows,