poem on glass opposite a court of justice

I found it really funny
when she asked
you if he was okay,
then asked
you if you were too

isn't it odd, still
that no one asked
me that, not even
after, not even yet

I found it really funny
how nice he was,
the look of terror
behind his kind eyes
but then

I remember being him,
meeting a beard
and scoffing
because I'd had you
and he did not

so I think the fear I saw
was mine
reflected through
Seven stars and back
into my horse-terror eyes

the white's all flecked
my heart pounding
I want to make you laugh like that
I used to make you laugh like that
How does he make you...

But those are those 3am failings
I always talk about -
the worst lesson, and here it is;
is that you're okay, by all accounts,
maybe you never weren't
and I'm still here, doing this
in the small, odd hours

that doesn't seem funny anymore...