poppoppop
dribbles down my chin
my insides are filled with that kind of sticky love,
sickly love,
and for a second i almost think that it’s the real kind
pop pop pop
the party crackers aren’t as loud as your stare on the side of my face,
and now i’m sunburnt in the middle of january
suddenly getting older doesn’t seem like a cause for celebration
you held up my first present, and i didn’t expect it to be my last
because your hands are clean;
were clean
pop
pop
pop
you stopped eating
you stopped sleeping
you stopped living
but you didn’t stop drinking
and the cork didn’t block that tight little neck for long
pop
pop
pop
i should’ve known when i got the call that you hadn’t clocked into work this morning
of course, you can’t oversleep when you don’t sleep at all
and the gun i’d heard in movies and in the backyard was now punching-popping-through the library
when the meanest bully in fifth grade hit the floor
and when you snarled “this is for anna, this is for my sister”
and when you looked at me and your steely gaze faltered
i thought that i would be saved from you
and i was right
because when my body
drop
drop
drops down to the floor
and the snaps of your gun are now permanently cemented into my skull
but even as the white hot flashes of heaven and hell battle for my soul
i’m cold
because i’m free