On Fridays our lungs produce strong winds
as we banter back and forth.
We play tug of war with ennui
like a child in a custody battle.
Both of us wanting. But not really.
I light a candle to summon the ghost
of who we once were.
The television melts into the carpet.
The room stinks of mediocrity.
We sink into the corner of the couch
either fighting demons—
or embracing them.