so it hurts
like a sock in the stomach,
and you're lying on the ground,
taking to the night sky to
fill you back up
and remind you that you're ok on your own.

so it makes you sick
because you're not.
and the sounds of dueling orchestrated symphonies
ring in your ears and
you can hardly hear your own breath.

so you count the invisible stars
and let yourself drown in isolation,
asking
what am I supposed to do now?
now that nobody's waiting;
now that nobody's counting down the minutes until i'm
actually
ok again,
because once upon a time
there was somebody lying next to you on that ground
counting the freckles on your cheek and
ignoring the invisible stars; how they
cried out.

so you miss that
and without it you're left feeling
nothing
but the writhing pain in the center of your stomach
from the beating you withstood
following several words
that concluded
your total loss
of hope.