You came home at night
with resigned sighs
and an empty wallet.
I always prayed back then,
hoping that you’d find happiness
in the darkest corners of yourself.
You were the only god I knew.
At night you traced my skin
with soft fingertips
and called me a goddess,
but only when you thought
that I was sleeping.
Awake, you stomped
across gravel laden sidewalks
until your shoes were filled with pebbles
harder than the anger
in your gut. You searched
among the empty bottles
of wine and liquor stacked on the island
in the kitchen, and in the cigarette smoke
that wafted up from outside the window,
and in the half-finished joint from the men
sitting in the courtyard of the building
with red glazed eyes
because I just wanted to fix you
and you just wanted destruction.
You could have been my Dionysus
if you knew how to smile.
Jessica Lynn is an aspiring poet from Randolph, New Jersey. She has previously been published in Pif Magazine. She hopes to one day publish her own collection of poems and change the world. For now, she spends her days cuddling her cat, writing her blog, and drinking wine.