Chilled to soaked stones
Skinny dipping waist-high
in shards of my feelings,
a current pulls my legs,
still in my jeans,
wading through the mistakes
I made it into the deep well
of a shallow excuse
when my friends
believed me dead.
The milk we spilled
under cover of shyness
pours like a wet blanket
slapping the floor
with unspeakable consequences.
My conscious won’t stop
me from swimming for balance
face first on the floor.
The lies we lead
behind the lives
of our lovers
revitalizes an enticing
cheap thrill, but we’re
not even in love.