Played girl

The phone jumped and buzzed, like a startled bird.

He answered and without her even saying a word

He filled his mind with hope that she would say what

He hoped she would say.

That she’d say, she misses him this day.

Her voice was a voice from the past, like a voice from the dead

But like a favourite book in his hands, he easily read,

Read into what she was going to think and going to say.

He’d pay for the guilt

But he’d have her on her mother’s quilt.

Then he’d have some new guilt to wash away the old stuff

And you’d think that by now she would have had enough

But no, she needed her fix, she needed it bad

As much as he, his.

He’d practiced saying “you know how it is”.

And she’d practiced listening and she’d practiced hearing it

She’d even got to know how to get used to fearing it

He’d practiced making sure that he’d let her

Absorb it all

He’d even promised that soon he would call.

So, addicted to wrong, he planted the idea

That soon enough, the two of them would be near

And, like an old known story told over again with his

Well rehearsed script

He lead her to her moral crypt.

 

The next breath was long, dark and deep like a valley

And her emotion slid and hid in a darkened alley

This tiny relived secret could remain hidden, save for the

Overflow of drips

And from her guilty pleasure he once again sips.