Who would have guessed it, not me,
circumstances and mishappenings.
Both lead to 2am texts
as the parlour doors close:
"You up?" or "How are you getting home?"
Sometimes you're with her, another me,
birdies tell me, less difficulties -
Do you ever think of me?
Missing my body as she falls asleep.
Does she lend you her shoulder?
I wonder about the life you lead,
still, poisoned words when you’re angry?
Was I only passing time,
a laugh and kiss to get what you need?
It's just a question,
but the answers never make me happy.