Dust covers the plates we used to take out
When guests and family arrived for their monthly visit.
Packages upon packages of cups are stacked
Right under the empty bottles of vodka and rum.
I bit my fingernails
Until my teeth can’t reach
And I bite the skin instead.
I scroll,
And scroll
And scroll,
Laughing when I see something you’d like.
I send you the reel or picture
To your inactive account,
Foolishly waiting for your reaction,
Or for you to send one back.
I barely look up anymore,
The colors of the walls have become unfamiliar,
With the light from outside burning my skin.
And so I sit inside here,
In my rotting shell,
To work,
To eat,
But surely not to live.
Distractions riddle every second of my waking mind,
In hopes to never obtain another thought again.
I play myself the thinker,
Without leaving time for me to think.
You have gone forwards, to better, more enriching things,
While I’ve stayed behind, too afraid to lose what I have.
Sometimes, I’d like to pretend you died,
So that I don’t think you’ve abandoned me,
Even though you gave me fair warning,
That this way of living wasn’t for you.
Another invite hits my phone,
A small message of worry attached with it,
Not from you, but from those who visited.
They worry how long I’ve been in the house,
They worry about how long since I’ve seen them,
They worry how I’ve been doing since you’ve left.
They don’t ask about you,
Because you’re successful, pretty, and happy.
But they ask about me,
Because I’m struggling, alone, and depressed.
I look up from the phone,
Thinking if I should ignore this one too,
Thinking if I should finally change my life for the better,
Thinking if feeling wanted is worth more than keeping my sanity afloat.
And so I sit on it,
Thinking for a long time,
If my charade is all worth it,
For a chance at getting you back.
I go numb,
Thoughts racing against each vein on my head,
Throbbing with each mistake that comes to mind,
Of how I managed to lose you,
Of how it managed to get to this.
And so I lay down,
Becoming one with the floor,
My body mimicking a corpse,
Heavy breathing keeps me paralyzed,
With tears falling into my ears.
I refuse to get up.
I refuse to be happy.
I refuse to do anything, ever again.
My phone rings once more,
Until it reaches voicemail.
“Hey again, it’s Darren.
Hope you’re doing fine.
We were wondering if you’d like to get some drinks again,
That story on the horse at the bar was quite funny,
We’d like to hear it again.
I get it if you’re busy,
Everyone is nowadays.
But if you have time to spare, come with us,
We’d like to hear your voice again.”
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