Heartbreak

The alarm has long moved past her waking time
She captures the dusk in the ceiling but refuses to face the sun.
She has a meeting to attend, 1 pm sharp. It’s already 10.
Last night won’t let her go so she doused the sheets
the way she always does on days like this.
Mornings 
are the worst. 

They talk of passion, television, and the beast.
She flies to Istanbul high on caffeine and hashish.
She thinks of the streets of New York in December
And how she’ll own the world atop the Eiffel Tower.
But gravity pulls her back into a spinning chair,
in a room 
where nobody listens. 

And on the train she sees the moon, stars, and skyscrapers
swimming in pollution.
She thinks of rigmaroles and commitments she needs to keep.
And wonders when she lost them, herself, in the haze.
She thinks she survived another killing,
But a magical part of her
died today. 

At home, she appeases the dying goddess by telling her stories.
She knows this day will sink in a montage of bitter histories.
She can always blame the grinning moon who casts the curse
on her hormones. She will forget this routine.
She will ignore
the stings. 

Tonight, she will linger, on her bed, in her head.
Savor the momentary pleasure of resurrecting 
in dreams.

- 10/21/2015