poetry

ache

your words are too

weighty, too

big

for my tired mind;

my eyes are glazed,

my throat is tight,

the things you are saying

that you are doing

seem unreal, otherworldly.

they should not be

this distant,

but you are loud and heavy

you take up too much space

you have too much mass

for me, for today,

and it is easier

to drown you out

than take you in.

 

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poetry

sleep

i would say i long for

nothing but sleep

but this would be a lie; i long for

dreamless sleep

uninterrupted sleep

restful sleep

deep sleep

the kind of sleep that

you wake up from and

feel well rested afterwards.

this sleep is

impossible

for me; this sleep

is drugs and broken

eyes and shadows

that pull from behind

each step like

weights;

this sleep

drags

and refuses to be

forgotten or left

behind; it clings

desperately to my ankles

and refuses to be

shaken off.

poetry

honey

honey,

I say,

is the only food

that will never

spoil.

they watch me

with no comprehension

and the bee moves

gently

along his fingers

in the afternoon

sun.

they do not understand

why this matters;

he tries to hand

the bee to me

but I flinch from

his outstretched palm–

too many strikes

 

from palms

of glass and

empty promises,

holding false gifts

that glint in

faded light.

we continue on

but honey

will never spoil

and my memories

someday

will.

poetry

sorry.

“how’ve you been?”

i don’t really know.

sorry.

“are you doing okay?”

no.

sorry.

“what’ve you been up to?”

worrying, picking my skin,

wishing i were dead,

skipping meals.

sorry.

“are you good?”

not really;

i’m generally a

pretty shitty

person.

sorry.

sorry that i couldn’t be

fine

and that i’m an inconvenience

and a burden.

i just want to

be alright and

instead i’m shutting down.

don’t ask me how i am

because i can’t lie

right now.