by
Evan Holm
All Aboard The Ativan
I don’t ask about him any more; though there are fleeting temptations. I don’t look for his truck at the bar or duck my head when I walk into the store. Some nights I stay in again, do laundry, pay my bills.
I am learning to live in the sound of an empty house again and not be scared by my own heartbeat.
Pantheon
You are Ares; god of war
You are Apollo; god of sun
You are Hades; god of death
You are immortal in my arms
Monday 1859
When did work become work? One breakup ago? Two? When did I stop having any desire to struggle, when did I start letting people simply wallow in their own decisions rather than provoking then to their best? When did it stop being fun? At what point did I allow my personal life to become so deeply intertwined with my career that the bleedover stained them both an ugly shade of red? How long has it been since I’ve been sincere saying “oh I love what I do”?
How do I fix the problem?
Lover Stop, Lover Don’t
I’ll be whatever you need me to be right now; just please don’t put me through that again.
Monday 2232 (Bent)
My teeth are set on the edge of a chalkboard biting down and grating, chewing on glass shards, swallowing a lemon rind whole.
I know I’m supposed to keep my distance tonight, but you’ve got my radar twanging so damn hard I can barely function. There is not a fiber in my body that is not yearning to you, to comfort whatever is broken, as we ring out the new year mute and miles apart.
Black Jack
The world around me comes in pairs, two by two by two like Noah’s ark on parade and tonight-
our triangle is a line because this moment is for you and her; there’s no room for me in your marriage tonight.
Saturday 1932
It’s never bothered me that you are married. You came on to me, and nobody forced you into it.
Cheating on my husband however, is something I will never forgive myself for. I may not have loved him any more, perhaps ever, but he didn’t deserve that.
And that is why I won’t drag another person into the geometry of us.