I’m pulling out grass,
wishing to feel closer to you.
I convince myself that it’s okay,
that I’m better, because I’ve learned
the beautiful craft of distraction.

I make sure there is always sound
vibrating off my walls, never a dull moment
in this skull. Numb it with herbs and every
time a voice goes low, drown it out
with stronger voices, any voices,
just never music. Or I’ll end up
right back where I began.

I’m pulling out grass
wishing to feel closer to you.
But instead I inhale, blink back
tears, pull myself off the ground.
It’s easier to carry on feeling nothing at all.