We lost it.
(We never had it.)
We sit, we smoke, we avoid eye contact.
We are exhausted.
Late night, Friday night. I avoid my phone,
Dressed up but not ready to go.
Procrastinating the night, The mistakes.
The numbness.
The descent.
I arrive to the shots, the laughter, the crowd,
Drawing on a smile, hoping it doesn’t smear.
Shots. Shots. Flames. Burning.
Goodbye.
On the balcony, swaying trying to remain
Upright. Silence sharpening its knife.
A girl drinking vodka straight
Inside.
A game of beer pong,
Shouts I can’t hear but
See.
He inched closer and I rambled on
Avoiding what I knew was expected
With the equations we write in order to
Forget.
His lips were against mine, aggressive.
We are Desperate.