How are you?

How are you?

Such a robotic question

No one real

ever asks me that.

If they did I don't know

how I would reply.

I guess I'd start by saying that

I'm empty

I'm alone

I no longer

have a place to call home.

There's only ever bill collectors

on the other end of the phone.

In my chest there is a crushed

feeling of loneliness, a broken

hearted piece of nothing with

nothing remaining, and there's

no real way of explaining.

Losing something I only ever

partially had.

My bad, guess I'm really pretty

damn sad.

I write but it's exhausting

trying to turn dust into bling.

So I write about her and they give

me rewards for such poignant prose

but no one really knows, I can hardly

get out of bed and there are so many

regrets inside my head. Sometimes

I feel like I'm dead.

But I keep writing, churning out words,

wearing out my feelings, which are

welcome at any door but hers.

So don't ask me how I am. Tell me

I'm loved, that my feelings matter

and maybe just maybe I'll believe

you and for a brief moment things

will be better.

___________________________

Feel free to leave me a tip or buy me a coffee.

Thanks for reading! - Sam