Sometimes I would purposely never ask you about your well being,
Because I did it so often that I felt the sentences in my mouth poison my tongue as they readily align with my saliva ready for deliverance-ready to tightly grip onto my throat, burn to ***** the last bit of air that remained..
It's still far to much of a dangerous question;
"how are you?"
I'll never know what next to expect perhaps I'll start to retrieve my answers more from the way you speak or the way in which to sit or the way on which your mind runs it's thoughts. I guess it's a lot less painful than to hear your stories. I never really wanted to be in the same box; questioned and secreted. My job was to aid you, place a safety banner around you to secure your remaining fragments. But I held my emotions so closely to the fire and let the affection between us spark large enough to cause my skin to burn. And soon,  I learned that I am unable and unfit to carry your burdens with mine. So I threw my memories in the sea and carried yours in my sack.
Though you would never know because I will never ask,
''how are you?''