Drink If
drink if you’ve fucked someone in the room
you counted the pennies in the wishing well, hoping it’d end up being a sign
you took the wrong exit on purpose because lately you’ve been knowing where you are far too often
you choke every time you see his name written in sharpie on the back of your hand
you stumble down the stairs, always try to keep up
you try to catch your breath when he calls to tell you his mom won’t come home
you never go home
you blame the stars, stare at the constellations just to believe there’s something bigger
something to steal your breath when you wonder where he is
the piano chords feel a little too much like that stairwell by the vending machines
where you cried because he wouldn’t come back
time is suffocating like a bag of sand tied to your throat
like a lipstick stained mug of release and promises
like the way you beg for thirty seconds of euphoria just to claim him as the same damn casualty
it’s something on the low, behind bars and shovels and caskets and all the times it could’ve been
it’s all the cracked mirrors and shards of glass, all of the bleeding out you had to do
just to remember life.
Kat Johnson is a junior English major on the creative writing track at SUNY Geneseo, also minoring in women’s & gender studies. She primarily writes poetry. She also loves writing and performing original music, which you can find on Spotify. When she isn’t writing, she loves singing with her all-gender a cappella group, Between the Lines.