Sometimes your friends are not.
They ride your weaknesses
hoping they can beat you
like a plowshare beats a clod of dirt.
I know. My friends have farmed me dry
My field is full of breathless lungs,
a bruised ego folds like dragonfly wings.
This barren life is all that’s left.
Should I simply bury myself,
dream my way into oblivion?
Or should I wait for the body to
make its own decision?
Hush. I will wait.