the surrender

in an auditorium for some convention. you are introducing me to a friend in the row in front of us - we know each other from somewhere, he has a friend of a friend who knows me. when i ask the name, i don’t recognize it and we all shrug like maybe it was never true. on stage, someone is about to be announced and i whisper let’s get out of here. we do not know each other well and you do not seem interested. “and go where” - i don’t know, anywhere but here. and you get up without saying a word and i hurry to gather my things - coat, bag cluttered at my feet. someone is mispronouncing a name  on stage and i am attracting all sorts of attention as i make a less than graceful exit.

you are leaning behind the door, smoking a cigarette and i don’t see you when i step outside, almost walk past you. "now what?" you want to know, and i haven’t gotten that far in the plan.

we leave, and go to the four bedroom apartment i share. my room is the last at the end of a long hallway. i feel like i’m dying, i tell you. "i’m already dead" and i won’t know you’re serious for another 10 minutes, when i have worked up the courage to let my fingers graze your arm, which is cold even by my standards.

you are some sort of evil and it should scare me but i have no fight left in me.