i thought the darkest times 

had snuffed themselves out.

that’s when writing was easiest,

bleeding words instead of what 

i really wanted to bleed.

this time, there’s nothing. 

don’t want anything. 

not a touch or voice 

or sleep, not even a vice. 

adorned in black 

to hide shame & body

parts ballooned & jutted

are they mine? 

every hour passes 

& it just is there is nothing 

to it no importance

i don’t care about time.

things are piling up

messages, midnight hours,

chest heaviness 

i don’t know how to even cry 

sometimes.

it’s lonely now,

truly this time. 

not even music sounds right 

everything is wrong.

i should water my plants,

they aren’t allowed to shrivel.