i want to be free,
not like in the movies where i'd sooner become a hooker
but more in the emotional sense,
where i almost drown in sensory overload
or crash upon shore and
dash against the rocks
of anger
of hate
of bitterness
of you.
although i think it might be easier
to find a stranger
and bed him
for $300 a night.
i still haven't decided the healthier
of the two.
then again,
i suppose,
i'd always choose you.
who knows?
maybe we get mistaken for strangers;
find each other
in a bed of
whispered apologies.
you'd still owe me that $300,
don't get me wrong.
but we could spend it together
and buy everything but happiness.