i hope you’re feeling better
because i think i want you to be happy.
when you took too long in the bathroom
and i thought you were slitting your wrists,
it was just the paranoia
eating at my aching lungs.
i guess it somehow was still hungry
from the nights in the frozen air ducts
and the cabinets above your window.

i’m writing this apology
not because i believe i’ve sinned
but because i’m still melted in the melancholy.
i was your ferris wheel head
and the bathroom floor—
i was the cold tiles,
and the concrete whispers,
and the wet paint on the sidewalk,

and i just really hope you’re okay.
i’m trying to be less like this,
i’m sorry.