Waiting room

In the dead of morning, 

Your furrowed brow knits me a lifetime’s worth of winter coats

Reclining into the glassy bloodshot river of your eyes- 

I have stopped caring that we can’t get a seat in this rotten room.


Their pupils roll like dice upwards to those swollen eyelids and their head drops to their chest.

An exhale, and the breath-scent of sour, self inflicted tears fall toward me.

Our friend is so impossible to look at. 


So I anchor myself to you,

Green and unsteady, ironically heroic

From when I couldn’t watch the needle pierce their fragile skin,

And, stepping forward, you said everything will get better now.


A lifetime later, you will cry 

Just as I did before- hopelessly, childishly- and as the sun rises we will crawl weakly into bed with no words left to say.


But tonight, I have never seen anything quite like you.

A bravery that makes me brave

Your vomit in the men’s toilet

(I love you disgustingly all the more for it)

And palms that face outwards so generously-

I know that you really mean it, by some magic that night I did believe you could heal all you touched. 


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