now it's 11am
and my thoughts are
being drowned by you.
the way you stare
into my eyes like I'm
some sort of feast and
you'd been dying of
starvation.
the way you'd grab me in
all of the wrong (but right)
places just to see me squirm.
the way you'd call me at
4am-knowing I'd answer-
just to hear my tired voice
and morning nonsense.
they way you'd complain
to me about how you can't
get into your house at 1am
because everyone's asleep
and the front seat of
your Mustang became
your hollow.
now it's 12pm and your
voice is coming through
the speaker of my phone
"I want to drive off of
a bridge, princess."
now it's 1pm and your
mother and I sit in the
cold leather seats of
that Mustang, crying.
the scribbled words
on a lined page,
"you know I'd never
hurt my Mustang,
should have known
better, princess."
