dead to the world

for twenty hours.

We Sat on the Floor

Tangled up in each other,

a knot of emotions

desperate for release.

And the more we kissed,

the more we talked,

the more confused we became.

He loved me. He loved her.

He loved her, first.

He loved me now.

I loved him. I hated her.

I hated him for loving her.

I loved him for loving her still.

He wanted me. He needed me.

He needed more to go to her, let her

know he loved her still.

I wanted him. I needed him.

I wanted him to forget her, needed

more to let him tell her he loved her.

When he asked me to go

along, some masochistic

piece of me agreed.

Fifteen Blocks on Foot and a Bus Ride Later

We walked through big revolving doors,

into the Land of Antiseptic.

My empty stomach rocked

at the alcohol/bleach perfume,

yet somewhere in that revolting scent

Tags: Ellen Hopkins Crank
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