Tag Archives: sorry


I don’t remember how I like to sleep
The inside of a kitchen drawer
Or a suitcase-less floor

I know the elevator buttons here
React a bit too slowly
I know he’s letting go of me –
I don’t remember when it started, but I can feel it growing
I remember knowing
That this couldn’t last forever
I remember feeling better, I remember we were changing
I don’t remember breaking though I think we tried to fix it

When will he get angry that
My nerves are getting jumpy
I don’t remember feeling calmer though someone said I could be
I remember knowing they’ll choose what they want to see in me
I don’t remember losing the chance to take the stand
But there’s a suitcase in my hand
And somewhere else I need to be.



We were going to build something
Unhung pictures haunt me
Your toothbrush in the bathroom taunts me
How long ‘til you’ve forgotten me?
Here’s the thing that burns –
I know there was a time
When in me you saw the world.


My day began
With spilled coffee and
Your hand missing from my
Thigh when I woke up
Later than expected and
Got ready in a rush I
Trust you finally gave up
On me getting it together
My promises of better
Never seemed to stick
With you
And so this
Comes undone I see
But I can barely stand it
Shaky hands are
Spilling coffee
Will I always feel this tired?

I want you to know.

I want you to know
I’m sorry for
The space between your bones I used to fill
And it’s not that I gave up on  you
But the smoke in your room
Took my breath away
More than you ever will.

I want you to know
There was a time
When I believed in you, that you
Were lighter than the darkness you created
That you believed in trust

What I’m trying to say is
When you gave up on waking up before two
I took it rather personally.

I want you to know
That, though diminished,
You will always be
The dust in the corner of my mind,
The afterthought, the words unspoken
But not forgotten.

What I’m trying to say is
I’m moving on
And part of me is sorry
And sad to see you bleed
I hope you find the things you need
But I want you to know
I will never be those things again.


I spent most of the weekend drinking
Monday morning hit me like a truck
I give up on makeup I have no foundation I would say that I’m unsteady
Monday morning hit me like a truck
[why did you give up on me?]
I spent most of the weekend drinking
You away, I give up on breakfast
I am feeling rather empty
I have too much space for you — I’m just starting to feel it
Monday morning hit me like a truck
I give up on self-defense
This cannot be justified
[maybe blame my parents]
I’m sorry for assuming you were permanent
You deserve less, I guess I should’ve tried once in a while
I’m sorry
I spent most of the weekend drinking
Monday morning hit me like a truck.