You never use
the word "friend."
It's always
"peasant,"
"idiot,"
"bitch"
with you.
You never want
to be touched,
yet you end up
groping me in
two distinct places.
One minute,
we're covering up our laughter
over something dumber
than ourselves.
The next minute,
you're stone-cold,
unreachable,
sharper than a knife,
a robot in a little girl's skin.
It hurts.
I want to break things off.
I desperately try to
cut off any connections,
but my stupid, stupid brain
pushes me back,
forcing me to crawl back to you
on my hands and knees,
the blisters and bruises still flowering
my palms and feet,
but I still keep running after you.
But you never notice.
You never care.
But I still wish,
god damn, I still wish
that you would at least just
call me your friend.