To A Broken Friend.

She touches me as she screams
But neither the touch or the scream
Is friendly.
There's nothing more but echos, finally.
SIlence.
"I wish you'd smile when you're fucking me."
She says.
She said that she wishes I'd smile when
Fucking her.
But how can I smile
When every mark on her heart, I put there
And every mark on her body I have caused
Or know what caused.
"Not preventing choice." I tell myself
And I have a choice in a smile
But she wills it!
I have no choice but to smile.
Her hands reminding me what I've seen
Where I've been.
In her.
Her.
Whispers in corridors remind myself of wanting,
Whispers in corridors remind me of being wanted
As if soundscapes of memories are being created.
Remind me to smile, to smile dear friend.
Remind me to smile when you're dead.
Hope I could maybe be withdrawn by my own
Hopelessness.
As if.
Choking myself just to feel
A hand print.
A broken habit,
Breathing.
In moderation maybe
Maybe not for the simple cost of fucking
Fucked friendships.
Fickle thoughts of fragile feelings.
No, I will not smile.
Not now, not ever.
Even if you're dead.
Not quite dead.