melancholia

through hungover eyes the room is tilting,
having lost ourselves in the space between
the parting of lips and friends; so long, farewell
good riddance.
(wouldn't you like to know) i cut myself on a knife,
turning me obsessive-compulsive with each passing moment.
we stand and inhale monoxide by the road while overhead
skies stretch towards infinity. lean over so I can small the acetone
on your wineglass fingers; it's not so much betrayal
as never really having had it to begin with.
let me tell you a secret, just between you and me:
the party's over. there, a flash of passion red,
the sound of shadows departing. autumn is pretty enough,
but dead leaves are just that,
(dead) -
the summer has ended, and we are not saved.

(in the bathroom i found bloodstains and an epiphany,
cupped hands numb -
i'm running on empty and writing my own demise -
with the absence of hope.)