He says he’s tired,

but his mind won’t let him rest.

He buried his pet goldfish

and prayed to the God-damned sun.

He mistook “stop” for “go,”

so now he’s on the run.

He is foolish,

built of laughter and fear.

He wants to die,

but he also wants a beer.

I love him—

his stupid smoke

and tears.

I love him,

and I’ll wait

a few more years.

I’ll redraw the horizon,

brush it in cocoa and honey.

I’ll invent a new way of loving,

so he’ll love me.

I am tired,

and he is tired, too.

I mistook the bath for the ocean—

but that’s nothing new.

I mistook his bed for heaven—

but I always do.

He mistook the road for paper,

the rope for a pen.

He mistook his losses

for another win.

But I will save him.