The dog is fine, I am fine

Move out, then back in
for two more days.

Stay to leave yourself
a puddle of cortisol.

Move back out with the dog
he didn’t want—now shitting blood.

Your mind is so powerful
it enters sad beast mode.

Let it generate lies to serve
the truth of why it ended.

Bleach your hair and dye it canary
yellow in the bathroom sink.

Bold and broke in your parents’ basement,
develop a piss kink.

To unload is a pit
ripe for the filling.

Freedom is a cup
that runneth over and over.