I Notice Faint Scars On Her Wrists

Are My Words Ever Actually Audible, Or Do They Just Echo In My Head While People Stare At Me, Waiting?

Came To . . . See You.” “but I Had To Go Home, Remember? You Were Supposed To Say Good-bye.” “don't Know Why You . . . Say Good-bye. I Say . . . Hello.” Her Lip Quivers Between Reactions, But She Ends Up With A Reluctant Smile. “god You're A Cheeseball. But Seriously, R—

Maybe This Is Why I Sleep Only A Few Hours A Month. I Don't Want To Die Again. This Has Become Clearer And Clearer To Me Recently, A Desire So Sharp And Focused I Can Hardly Believe It's Mine: I Don't Want To Die. I Don't Want To Disappear. I Want To Stay.

Peel Off These Dusty Wool Blankets Of Apathy And Antipathy And Cynical Desiccation. I Want Life In All Its Stupid Sticky Rawness.

Enough White Lies Can Scorch The Earth Black.