071118

I wish you’d stop calling it an “affair”

That makes it sound organised, premeditated

Like we have a fucking clue what we’re doing

And affairs are bad, affairs hurt

And we haven’t got there yet

So call it what it is:

A shitshow.

We are the worst

But at least we admit it

And that somehow makes us better

Than the rest

So call it what it is:

A fucking mess.

There shouldn’t even be a name for us, for this

We, together, should not exist

But even on our own We still do

Because you are me and I am you.

So call it what it is:

Inevitable.