Honesty

by Tyler Bigney

It’s time to be honest with ourselves -
I’ve lived twenty eight years, and chances
are I’ll live twenty eight more, providing
I don’t get so sad I drive my car off a cliff,
or jump, arms spread, from my fourth storey window.
After that it’s a waiting game – watching
the clock, every little rhythm of the heart
has you reaching for the phone, crossing
your fingers they get there in time. I
wonder will my heart or my brain stop
first? I’ve wasted so much of my life
doing nothing – endless hours watching
Asian porn, bad television, driving aimlessly
down dirt roads at two in the morning
lost in thoughts and praying for the dark
to lift like a curtain, and for the sun
to wake up over the spruce. I want to do
good things. I want to fall in love, and
have it mean something. I want to be good.
I watched you sleep fifteen thousand
miles away, your chest rising, and falling
like snow, your hair tangled in sheets,
I stayed so quiet, so still, I thought I had died.