tears used to come
so easily to me.
just under the surface,
a running stream.

now,
a simmering wreckage
that erupts

straight from
the bowels of the earth
exploding from my eyes
and throat

and  i cannot think
i cannot move

i fumble for something

i call out

but no one is there

and i think
i can't
go on

my face contorts
a rising scream
i crumble into
myself

i blow into
a tissue
and see the blood
and cry
because i didn't know
i was so colorful

days stack
upon days and
i find myself
talking out loud
alone
surprised at the sound
of my own voice,
that i even have one

eventually the hysteria ends
all the devices are charged
99%

and it all
slowly starts again

the guise
the cover up
the churning
the emptiness
the suspicion

and it
cannot be
stopped.

only pushed away

until all real things
come crashing
against you

and you have no choice
but to make the air frigid
crawl under
white fuzzy blankets
and
scream for the terror
the loneliness
the uncertainty
the displacement of peace
and withering away
of all hope.