Get up, get up.
The cacophonous cry beckons incessantly from the external world
but it’s never translated.
So you sit on the edge
of your bed and don’t belong.
When you do get up, it takes multiple attempts
because your head feels heavy and your mind is clouded
with thoughts that aren’t your own.
Your feet aren’t your own.
They don’t move the way you want them to.
It’s cold, it’s cold.
You feel it, but you don’t process it.
The wind splinters your face and freezes your tears
but you don’t care.
Your sense of self and surrounding is strangely altered.
Everything is too close and yet too
That car almost hit you. You’re sure of it.
But you don’t stop to consider the consequences because, well,
it didn’t hit you, did it?
Why did you emerge from your room?
What are you doing away from the comfort
of wallowing in your own self despair?
You have to be nice to the lady who swipes your card.
She had no part in making you depressed. She just happens
to lie in the path of this wave.
You force a smile and say ‘thank you,’
wondering if she notices.
wanting her to notice.
You don’t want her to notice.
Even though you know you shouldn’t,
you pour yourself a cup of caffeine, that monster
that makes your anxiety worse.
But at this point it doesn’t matter. You’re already here.
The walk to your table stretches endlessly
into the wilderness.
You see them staring.
Why are they staring?
Why won’t they stop staring?
There’s nothing to see.
Just a girl in a dream–
stuck in another world
and she can’t get out.
Her eyes are unseeing because she’s
detached from herself.
If you call her, she won’t hear you.
If you nudge her, she won’t flinch.
Maybe she’ll cry.
I’m this close.
You take another sip and wish the numbness away.
You cut the chicken and the knife slips against
the chipped ceramic bowl.
Both ways are the wrong way.
It’s turkey. It tastes like fish.
You can’t trust your senses anymore. You don’t.