Thursday, February 7, 2008

who will watch

it's sick, but she's really
getting the last laugh

are tied into knots desperately holding
our maimed friendship's wounds together
with bloody hands,
and our relationship's
remains, they are wheeling

so neither one of us gets
what we desire.

she's enjoying the reaping of this
in a half-guilty, fascinated
sort of manner,
the type of pose
you strike when you know nothing
of loss,
and stand
amidst the wreckage
untouched, saying,
"not me, not me, not me."

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