I want to write about heartbreak
And all the ways I hurt.
But with heartbreak, I don’t feel anything in my chest.
Instead, my eyes strain, bulging
With the force of a thousand teardrops behind them.
I want a song about the way my cheeks feel tight
From all the dried-up tears that streak them
And how my nose is raw and running,
Dribbling like a filthy infant’s.
Or how about the way my stomach rumbles
Because I made my dinner, sat down to eat
Before you told me we were done.
I made my favourite; you made me cry,
And now I hate the sight of it.