Disassociate

Happiness
was first defined
as a state of being:

from solid to liquid I would
puddle
like gasoline in rainbows,
thoughtless,
streaking cracked tar,
but they turned the hose:

I remember the minute when
everything was okay.

Before the window shattered, the car
shrieked on the highway, his fist
in red after he said the day
was just too
beautiful,

I wore glitter in my hair.
I thought my mother was an angel.

The water was cold,

ran into the gutter where
nothing made sense,

two hours pass while I decide
between a shower or bath,

I am done with chances.

Promises,
all the good men
with drunk hands,

this space between
myself.