When half-fixed pants
Is the romance
The olive branch
You don’t know whether
To smile or cry

When loves life blood
Is drained out
Pac’s question about blasting himself
Hits hard and you gain strength to die
97 in a 35
One inch short of an Acela fly by
One slip from a cold inky sundrance

I feel the water soak my heavy wool coat
The shock making my mind shut
My boots flounder spastically as I sink down
I feel the harsh metal diesel taste of the tracks
Their cold smoothness; a welcoming softness
Searing screech of too-late steel wheels
I feel the muffled thump of the hidden pothole
The jarring twist of the left front rim
Tumbling hurtling end over end
Over end

I come to.
Sitting on the edge of a borrowed bed
Not by choice
Not by head
Coming to grips with my role in this
Winding the tangents of the blame
I’m in pain
Far from indirect stiletto
Shoved into my chest
As she whispers
“I was so conflicted about this”

The cold numbness of my soul
Pours out of me like a stolen heat
But who to trust?
My own feelings?
My bitter heart?
My angry thoughts?
Or her…
Who’s proven my friend
For 12 years
…in other ways
I need sleep
Battle this another day

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