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stork daddy
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they'd never know as you went among them.
an island of hell in their heavens you help to create.
you smile as they smile, all the while searching their faces for the telltale signs of lonliness you wish they'd see in you: a laugh feigned too loudly, a sigh before starting again the conversation about jobs and majors and those friends of ours who departed from the chosen path and are deliquents or else janitors or something laughable like that.
and they'd never know until the hurtful comment made when drunk (in which you said one or many of the things which should never be said: you're not good enough, we're not real, it wasn't love, i'm aiming to take you down) or your disappearance from their parties and the lives that feed them.
but then they know, they learn a little bit about you, they suspect the rumors they've heard are true,
that you've lingered near dark shadows,
you've touched the hands reaching out there, from an alley,
from the ground,
and you've walked back into their designer homes no longer even bothering to try and scrub your hands.
in your defense you'd say, i'm just playing your game, i'm mocking you because it's your party game of choice,
but sometimes you play it a little too well. at some point doesn't it become your game?
no one will rescue you from this hell, shut off behind a biting smile.
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