five years from now

We split a cigarette and made our pact.

We made it out of fear and drunk.

Only ever honest about ‘us’

when drunk.

Only ever

get close enough

to…

We’re afraid of lonely; not being alone.

We’re both depressed,

repressed; I

have a phobia of talking on the phone

and you, poke holes

hoping to let the crazy out

- everyone has a little crazy to let.

And your eyes

look so bright tonight,

my lovely lightweight. Would love

to see you laugh too freely,

lean too close. These things

we don’t speak of.

“Life is a hands off game. It’s a chaotic scene you have to sit and watch,”

she tells me through puffs.

She postures so tough,

and I’ve only ever seen her cry once.