is only being in love with the idea of yourself

"I only cry over things that aren't real,"
she says with a soft frown
"It's the only thing that I feel
I relate to more than reality."

I nod and watch the wall
"It seems whenever I need to cry
Nothing comes at all
and all my strength is gone."

she smiles and speaks
"I find I cry to easily
and my laugh is always weak
And not as frequent."

I fiddle with my knife
"I laugh to much, and at the wrong times
but can't cry to save a life
even when I want to."

the movie was saturation
dialogue like poetry
people like greek goddesses
when the dog died my
eyes filled up like wells
but the movie wasn't real
just a mask the world wears
to laugh at itself in the echo chamber
it only became real when I let it

i cannot feel your pain
the walls in this house are too thick
my ears only register your shrieks

i still don't know what they mean

mom is stagnant and docile
your punching bag
dad is watching jeopardy downstairs
he adjusts the volume
to the flares of your voice

the arguing still lingers in my apathy
i don't sleep let i miss a sound
and when the commercials break
i'll listen to the crickets through my window
but it's just background noise

i don't know what they're saying

the doors in this house are close
still i refuse to enter a world
where you're drowning in your own tears
hoping someone will come to save you
rather than learning to swim

how sad
to be locked inside that room
i press my body against the doorframe
and listen again

but i only feel your silence