I can’t breathe-
But I can wear long sleeves.
I can’t look
To the tumbling leaves
Without being reminded
Of my cracking psychiatric state
That his name leaves me in.
I can’t smile,
But I can blame it on
Being “under the weather”
Like it’s some sort of
Dizzy spell that disintegrates
My fake smiles and
Social interactions.
Another year I watch the leaves lose their hair,
Being stripped completely vulnerable
In public,
Just the way he left me.
Another year I spend my birthday alone.
Another year I don’t have a date to the fair.
It’s unfair…
Another year I will be purposely outcast
At friendly functions.
Another year I’ll be questioned
As to why I stay at home all of the time.
Another year I’ll spend alone in my own mind.
Another year;
Closer to death.
Happy ******* birthday.