It's the pain.

It's the pain—I can't think straight.

My mind dreams only in quatrains,

Rattling, shattering, utterly insane.

My hands go numb

From the pain—again.

Feeling like you're dying

Is surely worse than being dead.

Even just being is consuming—

At least, it consumes me with dread.

There's a ringing, a spinning in my head,

Full of words I never said.

Echoes of laughter in bed...

But I don’t really care—

No, I swear I don’t.

There’s too much pain everywhere else.

Even my skin feels too loud.

How could I think about

You

When just breathing

Is a battle I keep losing

Quietly,

Over and over again?