I KNOW WHEN THAT HOTLINE BLING THAT CAN ONLY MEAN I’M ON THE BRINK

by Samantha Fain

after Drake
I used to call strangers on my cell phone, late night
when I felt unloved & alone. I’d hang up after a few moments 
of company, in case they called the cops on me.
& the cops would act mean because a good cop means apocalypse.
I want everyone to know that when their sky falls, I’ve already been snow-
angeling in mine for ages. I’ve been lonely at every party texting under purple
light telling my one friend I love him, drinking in the forest & peeling 
my shirt off because that was the dare & I could tell no one cared,
but it was a kind indifference—the night glinted just the same.
We all wanted to touch each other eventually. I love kissing.
It’s how I’ve met everyone I’m not in love with.
I never saved the hotline’s number. I deleted my call history
& pretended that shit meant nothing. My lips drifting & gone.
I never tell strangers my location, just that I’m not home.

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Samantha Fain is a writer from Indiana. Her chapbooks “Coughing Up Planets” and “sad horse music” debuted with Vegetarian Alcoholic Press and The Daily Drunk in 2021. Her work has appeared in The Indianapolis Review, SWWIM, Peach Mag, and others. She tweets at @smnthfn. Find her at samanthafain.com.