I left scuffmarks
on white doors. I wish
I could break. I left
my legs in bed.
I left you
before you, left wet
knives in the knife block.
I think I get off
on rejection.
I eat leftover pasta.
I can’t flirt. I hate
a little of everything.
I left the city,
but went back.
I am drinking. I drive
so fast I kill
the moon.
I left work
early. I remember
a wall. I can’t see
anything. I am drinking
again. I left
the front door
unlocked. I haven’t
touched anyone
in years. I am
in love, but
that is a lie.
I threw up
in the bathroom.
I read Baudelaire
every night. I leave