Intoxicated secrets to a stranger.

-

Shh, can you hear me?

Crawl across the floor until we’re

Just out of earshot. Let me hear you

Talk, talk, talk,

Until your chapped lips grow numb and

Fumble over pronouns.

I smile, because you don’t know my name.

-

You act as though secrets are important anyways…

No, I’ll take it to the grave, I swear.

Don’t give me that look; you can trust me.

This is the dialogue my eyes give off (hopefully) as I

Try to comfort without sound.

-

And some people say I’m a picture-perfect angel,

But I beg (and possibly plead) to differ, as I remember the day

They scraped off the silver lining, and left me crying

Earthly tears.

So maybe you shouldn’t trust me.

I don’t know…

-

Oh, you’re still talking.

But you didn’t notice that I’m not taking it all in.

So perhaps some of your secret will stay a secret.

Sometimes false security is a blessing.

(Lucky, lucky you.)

-

Maybe you should go… after all,

Telling secrets to a stranger isn’t the best of situations.

It’s not like you know what you’re doing anyways,

because I can smell your alcohol-tinted whispers.

-

Actually, you remember what I said about taking it to the grave?

It might be sooner than you think.

I wonder how the sober “you” would feel about telling secrets to a

Dead person.

(I’m almost back where I belong.)

-

But I can see your words becoming slurred, and your eyes

Glazing over.

I smile, a simple pulling of the muscles,

and put you to sleep…

Like an intoxicated child

At the mercy of your dreams.

-

And I turn and walk away.

…As if I could have done anything anyways.