there's a fine line between being something and being friends.
the moment he asks for our friend to tag along on something we had planned, is a line.
inviting that third person to break anything that was on the possible side of things, is a line.
that fine line is also so goddamn invisible you stumble over it like a trip wire.
your high is wearing off and you're being so fucking sentimental about your well being and state of mind that the conversations become jumbled.
you start to ramble on in text but then erase it because you don't want him to know how truly weird you are, or how absurd you can be.
we put on our shoes to go outside and smoke a pack or two, and slowly it all burns away.
the ashes of my thoughts fly away and disperse in the wind.
and you're just another one to call a friend.
YOU ARE READING
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Poésielittle outbursts of my mind splattered and spotted it's found on paper in pen -cmh oklahoma senior
