quarterican
Member
Conversations with friends.
"Shallow"
She listens to me count,
but she doesn't say anything until it's done.
"You're fucking sick," she says.
I stare at the number and smile,
because it's exactly where I need it to be.
And I'm not going to justify it.
She looks at me hard, asks me how I feel.
I say, "Fine."
She says, "tell me honestly."
So I do.
I tell her all my darkest secrets:
How that boy who was killed,
his body was found where I used to play.
How I'm just skin and bones and mouthy,
and this is the sort of control I take.
How I can't imagine anything different,
and I close my eyes and feel so good,
when her sister tells me, "ana love."
And makes a heart with her hands.
She sighs and tells me,
"I don't think you're half as shallow
as you pretend to be."
I assure her wholeheartedly, I am.
But at least I look good doing it.
"Shallow"
She listens to me count,
but she doesn't say anything until it's done.
"You're fucking sick," she says.
I stare at the number and smile,
because it's exactly where I need it to be.
And I'm not going to justify it.
She looks at me hard, asks me how I feel.
I say, "Fine."
She says, "tell me honestly."
So I do.
I tell her all my darkest secrets:
How that boy who was killed,
his body was found where I used to play.
How I'm just skin and bones and mouthy,
and this is the sort of control I take.
How I can't imagine anything different,
and I close my eyes and feel so good,
when her sister tells me, "ana love."
And makes a heart with her hands.
She sighs and tells me,
"I don't think you're half as shallow
as you pretend to be."
I assure her wholeheartedly, I am.
But at least I look good doing it.
