Friends My Balls

Your fork stops midway to your mouth and it’s almost funny how your spam falls off on your jeans

It must have been something I said, or maybe you’re just out of it.
Yeah, that must’ve been it. It couldn’t possibly because I just said that our friendship is a sham (bullshit).

You stammer, “w-what are you talking about?” When I know you know you heard what I said perfectly.

Rolling my eyes, “This” I motion my index finger between us, “Is not what friends look like”

I swear, it’s comical how both of our eyes drift down to my lap.

Because over my crossed legs are our hands.
Intertwined, suddenly sweaty and tingling.

“We’re not friends. we never have, never will.”

Your eyes on my lips are making me self conscious, I admit. But I try my best not to waver as you ask me, with your lopsided grin, “What are we, then?”

I inch closer and whisper,


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