You will not waste yourself.
You still have years,
to think, to live, to breathe.

Don’t think this is the end
because she screamed,
he hit, you cried.

It’s just the night,
blurring you,
masking himself
as a friend.


He is not your friend.
Yes, he knows all your secrets,
but he also knows how to twist
and turn your insides.

You are his spaghetti for lunch,
his afternoon snack,
his shot of whisky
downed and ready to approach that girl by the bar.

He is not your friend,
though his smiles comfort, his touches
are the kind of silk you’d never afford.
He makes you forget who you are,
the hole you came out of, the land you belong to.

He gives you light, somehow, but know
it is only a mirror of the truth.
He is not the sun, with all her glory,
However you make yourself believe
.
You are wasting yourself in him,
The morning presents you with possibilities.
You ****** them with your own hands, for him.
You still have years, but left undiluted,
you will poison yourself.

I see you have given up,
You see in the darkness,
You are the surrendering light,
You are the desolation in the sky.