Latex for the Heart

If they made latex for the heart,
my intoxicated blood wouldn’t poison my brain
reminding my heart its loss.
Dousing suicidal flames with alcohol,
sinking lower in my lazy-boy laughing lethargically,
I can’t remember her face–left before I woke,
took plenty of me, lost forever.
She’s penetrated my life and I can’t take me back.
Her silhouette as I looked up into the overhead light
haunts my haze of last night
hanging loosely between my neurons.

Said I’d make some friends,
but only stares and grins
behind hand-cupped mouths;
too proud to ask the cheerleaders giggling
beside their boyfriends’ lockers.
Don’t want others to remember more than me:
Nothing. First time stomping on the pedal, I crash.
Just want to start over before I’m not worth starting over.