it begins slowly,

just a sip or two,

and you notice the emptiness is gone

so you do a couple shots,

smoke a couple blunts,

but soon that isn’t enough

and your friend gives you a tab

and you’re tripping through the park 

but that wears off too

it all does

even the coke and the pills

so you’re always on something

and it’s over before you know it

you’re bad enough that it’s obvious

and you decide you need to break the habit

so you get clean

and you’re right back where you started

and you realize your tolerance is as low as it was the first time

and you could get so high right now

and you can’t figure out how

to stop eating your fucking tail



too much 

i see her

and i’m stuck in place like lot’s wife,

the sweat on my brow just as salty.

i know i shouldn’t acknowledge her.

but some things you can’t stop yourself from doing.

like sneaking a peak at the person in the car next to yours

at the never-changing stoplight.

or having one more drink

when you’ve already downed ten.

she has this sense about her

that she knows she can take me back

in the blink of an eye,

in the corners of her perfect smile,

in the all too familiar smell of her perfume.

all she needs to do is say those words

that strike my heart every time,

taking me to my knees,


“i missed you, you know”

she breathes, the words

dripping from her lips

like syrup onto blueberry pancakes,

smothering them until they turn soggy and fall apart.



Biographical Note: Morgan Nolte is a senior at the University of Kansas majoring in English (Creative Writing), Philosophy, and Italian. She spends her free time writing or snuggled up with her cat and a good book.