like a bed that's wrinkled
from a mid-day romp. And I
stomp out of his room. A plucked
flower cannot bloom.

He made me over
like a face after a night of
heavy drinking, thinking he can
cover the bags and dark circles with
mascara and blush. He made me a lush!

He made me over
like last week's leftovers
sitting cold and hard, pushed
to the back of his refrigerator. He said
he'd warm them later.

He made me over
like a plan, till the ****
hit the fan.

The term “ghosting” is inaccurate.

Ghosts actually care enough to stick around
because that’s the only way
they can haunt you.

To say a guy “ghosts” you when he doesn’t text you back is an insult to real ghosts

(see, real ghosts are actually
capable of commitment).

I am not an apostate;
I’m a feminist.

He told me:
“You should really smile more.”
So I grinned as wide as a Baracuda.

He said:
“You are so much more attractive when you smile”
so I showed him my fangs before sinking them
into the supple, tantalizing flesh
of his ego like a shipwreck.

It's hard to write a poem
when you've got Benzo-Brain.
But I mustn't worry;
the amphetamine shall kick
my brain in soon.

**** shaming women
is a form of ****** harassment.

“Do you ever think about dying?”

“All the time, Barbie.
and I think I’m starting
to get bad again.”