B R E A T H E

c i n d e r e l l a

i am at your favorite bar

you know, the one with the shoe hanging from the ceiling

i ate the burger with cucumbers and ketchup in it

it was terrible and soggy, just like you said it'd be

i didn't listen, ofcourse
instead i take a sip of my drink

and think back to how i always brought you flowers but never the ones you loved

never roses

on bad days, you'd carry them in your pocket

like a child with a sweet tooth, carrying coins to buy cotton candy and popsicles

like they were something you would give away in a blink, if you could get something better

sometimes the petals would tear apart and fall

sometimes they'd stain your jeans with bitter nectar that smelled like regret

on our good days, you'd put them in your hair and even wear their dead scent on your neck like an invisible gold chain, adorned with the pendant of love bites i'd leave on your skin

this place smells like you said it would

like beer and piss
like nostalgia and death
like love and regret

i can almost taste the same bitterness, in this air, that dripped from your lips the last time you kissed me goodbye

i stand up and take the shoe off from where it hangs like a dead man

i put my feet inside,
it doesn't fit

"it doesn't fit anyone, it's a size 13 or 14"

i hear your voice, loud and clear in my ear

i take the shoe off the ceiling, go to the restroom and stub all my toes against the door again and again until my foot is all but mutilated

it swells up as easily as your eyes did whenever you cried over me

i go back and wear the shoe

"I AM FUCKING CINDERELLA!"
i scream

and the bartender looks at me as if i just flashed a bunch of kids

the crowd cheers
it's a sacred rule, if the shoe fits, you get everything for free

but i am not here for charity

i give them your picture and ask them to hang it beside the mannequin; the one with its eyes missing

i take the shoe with me and hang a dead rose in it's place instead