Splattered

My heart is only
loosely based in
my chest.

I mostly wear it

on my sleeve.

Night after night,

I think
about her.

Her of ever flowing
hair, and smiles,
and kind eyes,

Soft lips,
and Wisconsin
stories, 

And what it could

be.

Sounds boring, I know,

but it might be
better than now.

Which is

mundane and
sad,
dark,
lonely,
silly.

Yet it goes

on and I can’t
help it.

The nightmares,

and the booze make
it so.

The paper is

wet with what
I splashed.
 

Splattered.

Spewed.