I am tired

Tired of listening to your indecision

As the alcohol loosens your tongue.

We all want what we cannot have

And I am surely no different.

You love her, you claim

Yet I've only heard you say

How little you actually like about the woman

Who shares your bed

And holds the invisible leash to which

Your heart is bound.

I am tired

Tired of being

Your shoulder to cry on

When things get tough

When she doesn't love you enough.

I've heard enough about your sorrow

To fill several hardcover books

And I've watched you run to her yet again

When your self-inflicted albatross

Grows too heavy to bear.

Why do you choose

To tell these things to me?

Me, of all people?

Is it because

I listen too well?

Is it because

You like the way

You hold my attention rapt?

Is it because you shared my body and my bed

When she cast you from hers?

Or is it because,

Despite my protestations,

You know I care about you

More than either of us would like to admit?

You know I'll buy you another drink

You know I'll be

Your captive audience of one

While you spill your soul

All over this filthy barroom floor.

You know I'd pick up the pieces

Grateful for leftover refuse

If only you would let me.

You know I'll go home

With indigestion from eating your sins,

But still you fix me another helping.