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love v. the haunted house

here it goes, a post from my broken bed in my hungover bones

it was the gin, it was the numbered text messages, it was michicant by bon iver
the slow leak of tears, one by one

met a woman last night who said the older you get, the uglier love gets
just haunted house lovers
crashing cakes into walls

empty-handed hopes for the function
of love again
of warm dizzy-headed loop-de-loops in the sky
of careening and winning the bet
of not knowing but knowing still

my legs hurt and my sides are sore and my lips are torn to bits and my heart just beats on and on and on regardless


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