Ceiling Talk
i promised him i’d never take a drink
but i’m finding myself tempted.
everyday is the same now
same ceiling, same coffee stain
same spot on the kitchen floor.
it’s raining while the sun still shines
and i’m swimming in the mud
that gathers underneath the little tree
growing in my yard,
it’s becoming harder to breathe
without someone here to give me
a reason to want to,
someone to kickstart my heart,
to get it beating for something other
than the pictures on this screen.
i want to make a salted margarita
on the rocks, and throw it at the wall
because it wouldn’t taste good if
i tried to drink it,
i’d rather taste you and snowflakes
and a cup of cranberry cocktail,
all things that make me happy and
all things i wouldn’t ever choose first.
i’m not quite sure what
this says about me,
maybe i’m not too good at making
up my mind or remembering to breathe
or smiling at the things that i used to,
but i have this ceiling and this coffee stain,
this spot on the kitchen floor,
all things that will always be there and
all things that were always there before.
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