“Let me show you:
we’re not all bad,”

you thought I said,
but really,
my friend said this
to you
as if
she were me,

and you thought she was me—
you believed
those to be my words.

How could you?
You should know better:
I would never say anything
so condescendingly vague.


But I still drove
down the empty
HWY poured for me.

My lights
were in fisticuffs
with the moon,
striving to become Night’s
only shining.

And my phone, too,
wanted to frighten
the vastness,
the letters I pressed in
proved its only use.


In the driveway
to your apartment,
I found eyes—

I found eyes with a hold,
and they floated
through the air
five feet off the ground,
gone across the way,
up the inclined knoll
to the homely woods.


Hunched upon your couch,
I would have enjoyed sleep,

but we did not sleep.

How could I?
I should know better:
I could never be anything
so condescendingly vague.

Though, I was—
I was until 7 in the morning,

and again when we woke.


You know,
what I did
was show you the opposite
of what my friend said I would.

She said I was good.
But I’m not.
I’m all bad.


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