Kisses On A Styrofoam Cup

She left town in a costume fur coat,

heels click-clicking against the pavement,

a suitcase filled with nothing but

Polaroids of people she wishes she hadn’t met, and bad poetry she’d never share.

They told her she’d be back,

but she swore she wouldn’t.

She swore she’d make it big,

or at least make it out.

Now she’s got a motel room

with peeling wallpaper,

a pack of cigarettes she doesn’t even know how to smoke,

and a Styrofoam cup with a lipstick stain

that looks like a kiss

she forgot to give.

She wonders if anyone misses her.

She wonders if it matters.