My lover drops me off in the driveway.
I lug my backpack inside,
begin to unpack all the loneliness
and split it up, dividing it into
small handfuls I can scatter
throughout the house.
In my kitchen, I eat a bowl full of guilt
and sip from a tepid glass of laziness.
Later, I’ll deny myself from taking
any pleasure, heaped steaming in bowls
I curl up in bed next to self-loathing,
sing it to sleep so I can
lie, wide-eyed, watching the shadows
dance on my ceiling.