She loses her guilt
as if a rock tossed through a glass house,
breaking the friction of napalm skies,
casting a Carolina haze over her smoky eyes.
West coast wildfires blaze through her envy.
The fury she unleashes on me
as she punches a hole in the wall,
which was the last time she’d been sober
brings bloody lips to a wrong turn.
I tasted blood with the glass
dripping from her fingertips.
You tell me you hate me.
Yea, I bet you do.