"The Way We Like It"

We're at it again in a fit of rage and love and ecstasy and the worst part is you barely even know it. In spite of a blatant malice I'll call you from home just to check in and I don't have to ask to know you've got a cigarette prepped between your fingers, and that's all-right with me. You don't smoke a lot but when your first few words drag out with a heavy exhale I know you're already a pack in for the day. The rest of your sentence trails off with a homely tobacco scent I can sense a mile off. Every word uttered by the both of us loiters about dead consoling air with a taxing worry. But we're ok with that. We're on edge and we're going to keep it that way. So when you miss the last couple words of whatever I was saying, I don't have to ask to know you've got a call coming in. I don't have to ask to know that it's him, and I'm fine with that. The fact is, we like to keep things interesting, and as far as I know, you're on the same page as I am. I don't have to ask to know you're going to take the call, so I say "goodbye" and you say "goodnight" and everything's just fine. You'll talk small talk and plan big plans and make amends for mistakes you almost made with somebody like me and he'll tell you everything is O.K. and I'll be off to my despondent little desk where I'll write bullshit like this. Because that's what this is, it's all bullshit, and everything's O.K. As fucked up as this is, as fucked up as this has gotten, everything is just fine, and I'm all-right with everything.