Best Friend

One night spent

chasing her through

small town streets;

drunk on straight vodka (£3.99) and

liquid fear (she'd had more).

I caught up with her

and saw

(trains rattling)

she'd carved into her wrists with a bottle top

(I'd paid) and she told me

she'd almost been raped

watched a man finger fuck Lucy

(drunk on cheap wine, old hate).

She cried giggles in a stained doorway

watched the rain clear

(both our heads) and then

stumbled (almost) home.

She ate Christmas chocolate;

I cleaned her wrists with

make-up wipes and

told her about prozactherapiststhose guilty stares.

It was a (customary) Saturday night and

she was my best friend;

now we sit at paint spattered desks

and talk about weekends, homework, chores

(once a day).

We don't really see each other anymore.

a/n: I know this issn't particularly good; it's not very poetic and it kinda just all runs together. I just sorta need to let go- I'll take it off in a while if no one really likes it.