Side Effects

On the way back home, I crack
my memory open to rehearse the stories,
and I always find half conversations;
my chaos interrupts people.
They talk, I listen to myself
and I'm loud
and wrathful
and stubborn.

The past is my narcissistic bully,
dragging me to places much
darker than my eyes can handle.
I swallow pills, clasp the
blanket, and choose my nightmare before
falling asleep,

On most nights, I wake up scared.
At 1:08 a.m.,
and 3:12 a.m., and 3:47 a.m.
Hug the blankets tighter, google more
breathing techniques, youtube
ASMRs, fight back flashbacks,
crawl with a heaviness, try to
mimick those who float
weightlessly.

I don't pay visits to graves.
I'm there when I'm having my decaf
and hurrying to the train station.
I'm there when I'm listening to some
90s brand, brushing my teeth.
I'm there when you reach to me
and I flinch.

On the way back home,
I remember I'm never going back home.