I drink when I’m sad in public.
As long as there’s something to blame,
no one knows
how sad I really am.
At your house, I go to the next room
and cry as quietly as I can.
You already know how miserable you make me
by the way mascara stains your couch.
White is a stupid color for furniture.
Of course, you don’t love me
for my eye makeup.
When you sigh and look to the right,
I look where you’re looking
and see nothing
but the expression your face relaxes into
when you’re thinking ugly thoughts.
Good thing pain is pretty-
a wound like this takes forever to heal.
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