you can hear the depression

drip from my voice, my new

saliva, it corrodes the mind.

& i ask what you want to do

over the weekend, my brain

a swiss cheese sponge wrung

out over hot coals & inhale

the rising miasma of “why

did i walk into this room?”

& i miss when the morning

sunlight rests on your skin

while we sip coffee and

foment reasons to break up.

you’ve got the best one, the

one that wins in the end, the

one that sits on the mantel

next to the spiderwebbed

bowling trophy.