poem that boy he

also, he
is that boy
(admittedly, one of a few)
who makes you lonely just
sitting there
here
across
anyways
i curl into a ball so as not to feel THAT
quite so much
fuck
i need to look the other direction for awhile
forget maybe

everyone else here is
background
walls, chairs, traffic noise, wooden floor, the cold sting through these thin fabric pants
that direction is fine (til i leave
and you are gone)

the coffee's cold
i can go

alone