vinyls strewn, you
repeated six times to me
"i'm sorry, i just really
want to listen to
music with someone."
we jammed to
tears for fears and
cat stevens as you
threw up in the bathroom
and i wondered
how often you fill
and empty yourself
and why you, my
always punk
try to kill what you
are made of
i told you, i
am not a blanket,
a bottle
or a band aid
and to be honest
i loved you less when,
covered in snot and salt
water, you
smiled at me, and,
sheepish and quite
obviously drowning,
took another beer.