Sharp against my side that wanted warmth.
I saw his face from the angle of infatuation,
a deceiptful direction that leaves you sinking back to the sidelines.
Tomorrow alone is more promising than today with you.
Your fidgeting condescension filled our glasses
while I fatigued at the burden of your arrogance.
Finishing quickly while you dragged your feet;
the pain of your pillar I suppose.
Climbing those stairs again,
clinging to a bed
clamoring for sleep,
on to the next.