pyrrhus retires from war

“If we are victorious in one more battle with the Romans, we shall be utterly ruined.” 

–Plutarch

i love like a broken thermostat.

like it has no repercussions,

like we have gas to last a lifetime

and the winter is invincible.

i promise you i am as warm-blooded as they come.

give me your dirty laundry and 

i will scrub

until i scrub the calluses off of my fingers,

air it on the highest wire rack like it is birthday party bunting

and dance under its dampness

like it’s the first rain of an unquenchable summer.   

i am so fucking thirsty 

i gulp tea right off the kettle,

heave as i choke on its sweet warmth 

and chew the bitter leaves till all that’s left is gum.

i feel sick to my core—

a saccharine toothache that refuses to dull. 

maybe all the apple seeds I’ve been swallowing 

will finally bloom.  

i swear i am incorrigible,

willfully reckless

like worn-out sticky notes 

that were too flimsy to begin with. 

i spin and spin until i am green, 

a slot machine sycophant, sick off of hope. 

i am the queen of hearts and i never ever fold.