Acidic Art

Third Roommate

I'm really not the third one

I'm actually the Second of the three of us

Yet somehow, I became the third

The third, as in order of importance

The third, as in the one who gets left out

The third, as in the one who doesn't belong

I feel as if it's their space;

Myself, not included

-like I'm uninvited

Tension when I'm present

going away

when I leave

I hear laughing and conversation

that stops when I enter again

She convinced me she wanted me with her in the beginning

and I knew from then on, I should have declined

But I didn't, for the reason that's purely of my own imagination

that's never been reality

Because any reality with her is walking on eggshells

and to think she used to complain to ME

about being "the third"

when she had her old roommates with her

-I wish I could shove the irony down her throat.

but that would be unkind

I want out.

there's no opportunity to though;

I'm stuck here

until further notice.

And maybe hell isn't silent;

thick air in the room,

the heaviness I can't escape from

unless I leave (for a little while) what's supposed to be a safe place

But everyone knows hell isn't safe.