pomegranates - Hannah Karim

words make no sense in oxford but make sense when drunk. soap trickles down unclean hands. stolen pomegranates, seeds still untouched. apple slices, drizzled honey, not too sweet, though it should be. you are broken like the smoke detector in my childhood bedroom, brokenness unknown until too late. i tell you to light a cigarette because i want to watch the world burn but i can settle for watching you pretending to love me and me pretending i can’t tell. i crave wine poured gently, but you insist on bourbon that burns but barely anymore and i wonder how long someone can stay drunk on yesterday’s liquor and i think the answer is far too long.