It's so strange how the body reacts
to a shift in emotion...

I carry you around as
if you're an integral...

This time,
can I be more direct...

I feel dead inside.
And thank goodness I write...

Too much effort
to drink...

I let the flowers die,
not even batting an eyelash...

I wish I could let myself feel it.
The reality that you care...

Can we talk about how you made the unsaid, said?
You, who is so eager, wanting the best for me...

The first thing that happens is you
romanticize it, or maybe that part...

I feel myself slipping,
floating off to an unnamed...

Dreams are not tangible
yet I grip my pen to recount...

My desire to be safe
is a flower in false bloom...