I pluck up blades of grass, splitting them ‘till there’s nothing left, and I feel a weight on my tongue, like that left from too much peanut butter. My mouth is stuck and I’m choking on my own saliva, and I’ve had one helluva week, so please don’t talk to me.
Please don’t go away though, because I’m finding it hard to let go of you and me, and me and you. It’s kind of sticky, like bubble gum stuck in the hair, this feeling won’t come out, and I won’t go in my own house anymore ‘cause it’s not a home and I don’t know where I’m going, but I know it’s not here.