You have lost the legitimacy of the morning.
The sheets waft of stale vomit;
your mouth dries with thirst.
It aches, this morning that you have lost.
The loneliness of saying "good morning",
the used toothbrush beside yours,
your once flexible heart—
these are the things you cannot take back.
The words that you said
The people you have hurt—
these do not leave so easily.
And you, you who lost
lie here in this broken sanctity
and determine which were the nights you regret
and which you do not.
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