Yours singularly

* * *

Always close by my side, he mocks me. 
Calling the lack of endearment around me,
self-inflicted.
Late in the afternoon, at work, 
“All these people around you need you to
break their bread”, he mulls. 

At the bar,
he demands to know 
why I hadn’t invited myself to her house. 
“You could’ve shown her a good time?!”
I feel pity for him, I can see the mourning, 
through his starry eyes. 

At the package store,
he tells me “People want only your monies!”
I don’t open my mouth 
or make eye contact
to buy a week’s worth of beer and cigarettes.
This social prediction cements his convictions for me.

Out in the balcony,
I smoke small puffs of cold clouds,
as I see a fight unfold in the moonlight. 
“Do something, 
all that heat in your muscles? 
They have never seen passion nor crime”, he begs.

I slide the door quickly to keep him out. 
But he has made it. 
It’s déjà vu, 
when we both crash on the couch. 
“Get a dog man,
you are killing me!”, he says.

Women have much use for them,
not me,
I bark at him.
I’ve got time to kill,
and that’s how the TV comes alive.
John Oliver’s out there to hang with.

Late in the night
he promises a revival,
“Go on Tinder,
Swipe to the right”,
to make it alright.
He whispers into my tired eyes.

I slither down on the couch ignoring him. 
Before I can invade sleep, 
“You are ripening!”, he warns me. 
In a matter of minutes, we both become one, 
I am him, he is me. 
Alone am I

* * *

Originally composed on: 7/10/2015, 2:10am

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