Hi, I'm sorry for texting you so late it's just that everything feels like it's falling apart and I can't even recognize myself anymore sometimes it feels like I'm not even the one living my life I'm just watching it like a movie I'm just going through the motions and I don't know who to talk to anymore because I just keep making more problems but I need help I need someone to hold me and tell me it's okay I don't know how to make it through this on my own please just come save me

Today I watched your
lungs turn inside out against themselves,
the air unsure of where to go so it just
hovered
in that middle space between coughs,
when you thought you'd caught your breath but
your voice hitched when you tried to talk and
you started choking again,

I saw
that today, your
eyes watering as you struggled to
remind your body how to sustain itself,
you cussed between fits and asked,
"isn't this supposed to happen on its own,"
you wheezed,
"shouldn't something so
instinctual
be easier than this?"

You didn't sound like you wanted an answer so I
kept my mouth shut,
brought you a glass of water.

When you decided to stop smoking
you kept buying cigarettes,
still carried them around in the
pocket of your jeans
but told yourself that
every time you lit one
you'd have to put it out on your hand,
and so you savored every moment
that smoke rushed through your lungs,
let them all burn down to the ****
before you took a deep breath
and pressed it against your palm.
You still smoke.

To fill the emptiness with hollow things

To speak through our teeth only in whispers

To find remorse in the beautiful memories

To pour the milk ourselves

To walk away from that which we hold closest

To clog the drain with pebbles from our shoes

To hate those who love us

To hate those who cannot

To dog-ear the pages in borrowed novels

To hide lies beneath our skin

To lie thorns beneath the bedsheets

To forget to say hello

To forget to say good bye

Sustenance for my frail body
contained in gel-coated pills
split into thirds,
one for morning,
one for night,
one to slip beneath my tongue.

A glass of water
–or milk, with breakfast–
rumbles through my throat,
resists peristalsis,
hits stomach.

The heater clicks on
as the thermostat flashes 68 degrees,
then shuts off at night,
replaced by
one sheet,
one throw blanket,
one quilt.

Your hand, inches from
my fingertips,
not yet near enough
for electricity to jump between,
will go unacknowledged;
one feeble attempt at loving within my means.

The black of your faded comforter
and grey walls with paint swatches in
tasteful shades of yellow
Against our timid skin
blushing with sun exposure
we have not seen in months
Dim rays slipping in between the blinds
and the rain
–in line segments–
makes its way down your window
We whisper so
the neighbors cannot hear us
pretending to make promises
Five past four
still too early

I tried to burn the first flower you ever gave me but
it filled the room with smoke like
cigarettes and
I felt it fill my lungs like your
breath
when we used to kiss and
my throat is raw with missing you