The Two Of Us

One of us is counterfeit
because you told me that you loved me
because I wasn’t sure whether or not I did
because you made excuses for me when I told you
and that seemed to be the easiest way to deal with it.

One of us is a coward
because you never told me your stories
because I told you too many of mine
because we never talked in tandem
and that seemed to be the easiest way to deal with it.

the two
of us
are dying

And now I feel validated in writing with a cigarette in one hand
and Johnny Walker in the other
without having to explain why I play the poet
while I exorcize these demons out of me
while you say that I have my own voice, but it’s just not something you can relate to.

I never asked you to relate.

I only asked you to listen.

the two
of us
are dying

One of us is comfortable
because you have the rest of your life written down in a book
because I write mine as I go along
because we don’t seem to be writing in the same language
and it’s easiest if we just don’t deal with it.

One of us is a casualty
because your only emotions are those you can fit into your schedule
because mine are as abstract as your religion
because I can touch the sky as you stare at the ground
and I’ve already dealt with it.

the two
of us
are dead.