I don’t want to open,
not emails carefully written
or texts with clipped care and sad emojis
or uncommon knocks at the door

I don’t want to open
because they’ll be about you,

not from you

the radioactive throb of their concern
will tear at my shut eyes,
try to pry at arms tight across my chest
and draw words from the thin line of my lips

I don’t want to open,
though I know it’s the start
and ‘the best thing to do’

it will trigger the tumble,
the stumbles, the snot-nosed howls,
crushed throat rage as I claw and wrestle,

but it will slowly begin to lessen
and I’ll lose the living you

I don’t want to open