Acceptable

Written: 2012-2013 x Edited: 2024

The teeth marks in my bed sheets seem a little too concerted for your conscience;
one-fifty-seven isn't enough to weigh you down-
or me either, I guess.
Our haphazard steps cross rooms without faces
but plenty of cigarettes, which is funny because I always thought I would hate them
outside the flavor on your tongue.
Can't say I know exactly what that means;
if I did could you really claim that would affect your opinion of me?
Of anything?
Inquisitive retail will only get you so close to another human being,
and I guess I've given up a bit-
not that it wasn't nice while it lasted, trust me if some stranger came up and asked
if I would do it all again I’d probably say "yes"
and they'd give me that nicotine-caffeine grin
that strangers on this part of the street always
seem to have, but please don't mistake indecision for capriciousness.
It's hard to say whether I really love
or not; there's a certain poise in indiscriminate anxiety that I don't suppose the smell of mildew
or taking shots of vodka alone
will ever quite conceal, but if I'm going to keep to doing this I have to reaffirm with myself that
I'm okay with self-destruction.
That everything doesn't always have to be all right.