three o’clock

three o’clock in the morning

and i’m sitting by the fireplace

a glass clenched in my sweaty hand

(helping me to forget)

i can’t think of anything but you

i close my eyes to get away

but your face is painted there too

seared into the underside of my eyelids

like a hot brand against a calf’s skin

(you’ve claimed your property)

i don't know why you won’t let me be

i shouldn’t be thinking of you

you did nothing for me

but push me off the deep end

(you made me a mess)

you tempted me

lured me in with the promise of love

then chained me and left me to rot

until the flesh melted off my bones

and slid onto the floor

(a piteous puddle)

and yet i cannot help but cry

as if our brokenness

were truly my fault

(like you always said)