if zack had asked me to go to a funeral with him I would have probably held my tongue for a moment before mumbling about a shaky disposition, and disappear back into his bed sheets.

this is assuming I am sober. there's no telling what would spill from my cerebellum if I was under the influence.

likely I would shout about how death is an illusion and funerals are only likened to dogs burying bones, and should be shown as much respect as 'do not disturb' signs.

although if I was feeling keen that day, (a great welting thirst that develops in the back of a poets throat) I would perhaps agree. from around a pen cap, of course.

and it would have little to do with liking him, and a weighing guilt would probably wrap itself around my shoulder for days before I would finally admit it.

but if Logan asked me I would leap like a board suddenly cracking. all my pieces would fly here and there, and no part of it would be considerably attractive.

and a raging fear would arise the instant my feet slid swiftly through the doors of the church.

'dear lord what if he cries'?

because I am truly kind hearted (if a poet can ever be so, that is) I would show up beside him ripe with love and uneasiness.

'dear lord, what if he cries'?

however I have a weakness, I must admit. and because as weaknesses go, my kindheartedness makes this one extremely bizarre.

I cannot stand a crying male. it instantly revokes my kindness to see tears in a mans eyes. being exposed to it makes me mad. "surely this can be done in private? or on a more appropriate shoulder"?

I am simply not the girl to call if you're feeling like having a good cry. or a bad cry, or any cry at all.

this goes for both of them

don't make me watch you cry.