today the world has a surreal quality. I
spent all of it in my room,
very aware of my body and watching
the dust motes swirl in and out of the
window and watching my loneliness.
It evaporated out of my pores,
sweated out under the blankets,
steamed up through the weight of my flesh.
I could see it leave me, like poison leached
from a snake-bite
and my skin, with the pink of the drugs,
turned from bitter bluish to a pale, left-in-the-sun white
My parents called this afternoon,
woke me up from a nap,
but i made up a story about how active i had been.
Told them how i’d gone to urgent care
to see a doctor,
leaving out how i’d ripped up the insides of my arms
and how i’d wanted to kill myself
and how they were feeding me pills like candy, now.
It wasn’t that i was lying to them so
much as leaving out what they didn’t need to know.
They want to hear their baby is happy and i was happy
and i am happy with this stuff dissolved in my veins
but my sore throat keeps reminding me of crying, and i wonder what my body is trying to say to me.
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