yeah,
it's sick, but she's really
getting the last laugh
we
are tied into knots desperately holding
our maimed friendship's wounds together
with bloody hands,
and our relationship's
remains, they are wheeling
morgue-bound.
so neither one of us gets
what we desire.
no
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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