Self-Medicating

I ushered in a new love and brought it to my kitchen table. I reasoned with it and nurtured it, and threw the old love out, with pictures set on fire and love letters torn apart. I picked up all the pieces and felt the salve of something solid. I breathed in ash and smoke of burned bridges and did cartwheels through the soccer field. I micro-derma-fucking-brased my soul. I tried it all, sleep and sad poems, TV and toast, pills and post-war memorials, but Lord, I never got the pain to go away.