Amber Corrine: 2/4

i’ve spent years searching
for messages in bottles.
even in the puddles
that soak through my shoes

i keep looking over my shoulder
for the one who told me
that actions speak louder
because, at what point
did those words have less
intent than the marks
you left with your fingers
or the dent in my wall
from that night we fell
down a blue lit spiral
medicated by vodka bottles


i know
you never stopped looking
right swipes under bedsheets
texting one handed
while the other
twisted in my hair like
the willow roots
that shatter foundations

leaving trinkets
like Cinderella
just another way to push
through my door
leaving broken glass
instead of goodbye kisses
in the morning

maybe i have
found the bottles i’ve
been searching for after all.
maybe they’re the ones
you left on the ledge
just outside the window.
rain-weathered and
devoid of any message at all.