Just friends is killing me;
just friends is the stake impaling my heart;
just friends is the barb mocking at my side,
it is the metal filing piercing my eye,
and the shard of glass hidden in my too-tough heel.
It is the chicken bone in my gullet,
and the madwoman's scalpel poised at my womb.

Just friends is quietly mutilating me;
just friends is circumcising me;
just friends is the backyard surgeon
and his unwashed hands,
the rusted razor blade,
the filthy thread,
and the curved carpet needle.

Just friends is a coward's lie.
Just friends is the serial killer's
spotless white gloves
and his big, blunt, strangling hands.