Nights lighting lavender,
as the smoke slices
the back of my throat
I exhale and tell myself
I’m relaxed.
I exhale a million times
and I don’t have to tell myself
anymore-
insomniacs who I could call
that wont end up telling me
I’m nothing
or asking me
‘who is you?’
I’m sorry that I don’t love you,
but I need a friend, too,
one who understands
self-hatred
and can hold
a conversation.
I’m sorry.