One of Many Explanations

I am not your friend to call

At 4 am and piss drunk 

Wishing it’s a door 

As you knock on a wall,

Or for a long night when

You wish to unload on me

Your exhaustion and struggles

In hope of some bitter validation,

For a stroll down the alley

Of allusions where we meet

Two hapless beings 

Watching the greener pastures

On the other side of the field,

I am not a shoulder for you to tap

On eight times a day, each time

Feeling better with a stroke of

Imaginary luck you hope 

To find in your way,

But I could be all these things

On your best days, in your lovely ways

When your world comes undone

Slowly stripped of its sound

Into absolute fractions built from the ground,

And I could appear like people

You wish to know, to keep meeting

Throughout, till I’m no longer a person

Just a breathtaking body, mind and frowns.

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