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.