the things we tell our friends
just so they can win our side
even when you know you’re wrong
the secrets we keep from friends
that’s what I’m interested in
but when will the daggers reveal themselves
when will they say to you as you stand delinquent
loitering with too much knowledge and you know it:

when will they say to you all the bad things first
and then I love you after. We cry for an intervention.

Maybe when we’re adult enough to die in truth
Maybe when all the alcohol has ran out, the betting on lives has died
and all that is prohibited is a bitter run home hiding behind masks
since the house that warmed this apathy burns
throbbing with my search for acceptance, throwing it to my face
the ashes of utter disappointment.