This holding back stuff,
facade, is getting rough
with my hopes in reach
close enough to touch.
Practically out of this rut for
a life time of not giving up,
if I could only take the last step
but I know for certain
it'd be a bad bet to run a circle
around a friend like a back-stabbing
game of chess
and the check mate would leave
a dark stain on the membrane
of what ever came next.
So I take small dips
instead of full rips
one or two hits
just enough to get me to my next fix,
the whole time her face playing
in my head like movie clips
laughing at jokes or drawing *****
little kid shows, cartoon pics.
Making food and saying, "**** the dishes"
But now I wash them and watch
my ideas swirl down the drain like dead fishes.
Split a swisher, pack, light, lifted.
My mind keeps switching
as I watch her walk back and forth
cooking in the kitchen.
Sooner or later my life will be ruined
by this
decision.