i asked my roommate for a title, but he couldn’t think of one.

november 21st, 2018 — 3:32 pm.


“come over”

every evening.

“come over”

is your calling.

“come over”

believing this would entice the ounce of me that wants to see you.

“come over”

my mind dissuades my body from falling for that one again,

and again,

and again,

and again.

“come over”


two compelling words, an argument of sorts, trying to provide a gesture that encompasses the idea of me becoming your beneficiary,

as if i’m gaining value in sharing a heightened expression with you.


you,

the one that kept treats for me

just enough for me to beg

and for you to tease.

you,

the one who put a collar around my neck with a tag that had inscribed,

“here lies nic who’s shit outta luck”.

it came attached with a leash too,

and a choke collar in case i came to close to you.

you,

the one that kept me waiting in the car without the windows down,

panting with my paws in the air watching you and your date,

dates…

make eye contact, smile, then turn your face,

knowing i’d still be here when you would come back.

you,

you are on my phone again,

asking for another taste of what you want from someone else.


but what am i to do?

you know i care about you.

you know i’ll carefully implore for a preview of what is to be untrue.

you know i’ll count every wrinkle and listen to every line,

while simultaneously becoming inebriated by every word you speak.

wine drips and articulates what it means to feel something.

but is it really something?

because it feels like nothing.

even if it is nothing,

i really wish it was something.

and i used to want anything with you,

but now i’m just a thing.

me, a special thing,

supposedly.


if what i deserve is not what you want, will you fight for me?

or will you perpetuate the notion that i am an unemotional experiment testing your love hypothesis to perfect for someone else.

as if all of the lab results have not already tested successfully.

i guess i’m positive that you’re negative about this connection, even though you mentioned our electricity could spark a city until forever’s end.

i guess until another circuit finds its way to say the things that i say.


but why should i complain?

i convey the same display of foreplay by surveying flowers and bouquets to any castaway on a monday.

i’ll portray blue jays singing happy birthday from broadway if it’s what i need to get my way.

the same game you play,

i played it too,

but i left in order to find a better me,

and, what i wanted, a better you.


i’ll be what you love when you’re drunk, because i’m not enough when you’re sober,

and while you’re intoxicated over him,

i’ll be sedated knowing that you’ll never be enough for me.

“come over”

no, this time, it’s over.

5 thoughts on “i asked my roommate for a title, but he couldn’t think of one.

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