In with the old, shred the new

There is a hole

in my chest

where you sit,

and when you leave,

it’s left empty

and wide.

Even after all these

extended goodbyes,

unintentional hellos.

My nose still holds your scent

like dandruff and wrinkled tee shirts. You

have a brand new

wardrobe now; I think

it’s the sign of you leaving.

I always said you’d look good

in skinny jeans, but I doubt

you bought them for me.

Is this too religious for you?

I’ll fuck wild

for a month, now,

tell me:

is this too religious for you?