Her number is on speed dial
and though I’m the one that’s calling
I’m praying she won’t pick up
and say that “hi”
that’ll have me coming undone.
I’ve never wanted to talk to anyone less
while I’m aching just to hear the sound
of her darkness crackle through the phone line
and tell me “it’s all going to be okay”
though deep down, I know otherwise.
We’re a demented disaster
just how I used to like it.
And given the chance I’d beat her to death
while she sucked my soul through a straw.
Sitting contentedly in the afterlife
we’d call it love
and do it all again.
© Indie Adams 2012