One way, or another.

"Sometimes good people make bad decisions."

But she was wrong. There is no good and there is no bad.

This is why I don’t can’t hate you.

Staring into her eyes, I remembered what it felt like that night better than I had remembered it the day after it happened.

I saw again those unkind notes on the walls - things like “get me out of here,” and “CUNT” scratched out in long, shaky, letters - and I felt again the  stitching of the stiff khaki fashion I slept in and the coldness of those half-assed crocs I had on my feet.

I remembered it all too well. 

So I remained motionless, locked in in that blue surveillance of truth. I let it fuck me up.

Blue. Her eyes were blue, deep like sundown on a cloudless evening. Not a spec of light was to be found - no, they were dark, and they were fierce, and they were coming for me.

But they were not relentless, and as she stared at me, I felt truth and untruth clawing at my insides, ready to be released, to be told, to be heard.

I said nothing.

My favorite shorts, Buddha bar, every lie you ever told me.
It’s always running with you:

Your hands, my thighs
Up the stairs and down them
From the truth.

I should be running from you.

MIA and not a day over twenty, how proud you must be. I can’t make you stay, but I will not allow this to become a cycle in your roundabout game. I don’t appreciate what you’ve done to me, and I won’t let this go.