A.N.: She is my friend


she knows her way around.


knows her way in my head,

finds joy in

crawling in the tiny spaces

of my sadness,

spreads guilt

and uncertainty

every time i

think of

picking up the

sharp pointy prongs

that have no problem tearing

me to shreds


she makes her whispers

in my ear

sound like evangelic

gospels that shall not be


for if they were she’d have no

problem striking me down,


knowing her

she’d make

sprints, push ups, and weightlifting at 2 a.m.

seem like a walk in the park


but it’s no walk in the park when

she makes everything a race,

makes it all about control

“letting the anger feed you,

letting it fuel you with the power to go

one more,” she’d say


saying no

is simpler

than making habits out of

restroom breaks

making chewing gum the only thing

that can satisfy the

both of you


what might be worse are

the concerned stares,

and constant questions,

the need to always turn to her for answers

always feeling guilty

before and after

because she’s the only thing on my mind

i’ll admit I have a problem

but I can’t seem to let her go…


2 thoughts on “A.N.: She is my friend

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