antidepressants, that I am not some war that bereaves you of your fix, your stark face blots purpling stains under eyes glued
to the buzzing of insects by your lamp— a light that catches a reflection of their veined wings clear; like veins tamped in brown, the black tar shoved
into your limbs, into my heart the idleness in your eyes and pace of your feet dragging, they impart me of your glass maze chase
of mirrors cracking like teeth, a scrape against each other, shattering to escape.