I was still heavy from the Benadryl.

I tolerate the weight of waking up.

Coffee does nothing for me anymore.

Neither does cold water to the face or

screaming the lyrics to America.

All the f***ing creamer is going to

spoil one of these days.

I pour it out at night,

like a lot of things,

when everyone’s asleep and won’t see.

And the moon rose over an open field

I’ve tried tea and it tastes like piss.

Green tea tastes like the stale disappointment of disturbed mothers.

Earl Grey blends remind me of an old friend.

Laughing on the bus Playing games with the faces

We were seventeen, and even then I wanted to end things.

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Amanda May is a senior at Lindenwood University. She is majoring in English Literature with an Emphasis in Creative Writing and minoring in Journalism. When she isn’t writing, she can probably be found screaming or crying (or both) about Star Wars, anime, or Florence + The Machine. She can be found on Twitter and Instagram @Amandalorian451