So Irrelevant
Is Anybody Calling?
I'm sitting at the breakfast table across from you, but it feels like I'm not even there. My vacant eyes, my slackened jaw, my chapped lips. I'm a shell of myself and I don't know how to fix it, how to reverse the damage that's been done. You tried to save me, you did, but your hands were burning and my arms got tired and you had to let me go or you'd have gone over the edge too. Then we'd both be in this mess with no way out and I couldn't have that.
When you breathe, I hear it in my head. It's like an echo, a jagged sound that reverberates, rattling my skull until it fades into silence. I know I'm frustrating you by being like this, so dead and closed off. You like it better when I'm violent and angry, because at least then you know that I'm feeling something. But I can't feel anything.
You're getting up to leave now, a sour look on your face. I watch you dump your coffee down the drain, slip on your jacket, step into your shoes. You look at me once before you head out the door, and I can't tell what that look means. Then you're gone and I'm alone at the breakfast table, empty as I always am.
When you breathe, I hear it in my head. It's like an echo, a jagged sound that reverberates, rattling my skull until it fades into silence. I know I'm frustrating you by being like this, so dead and closed off. You like it better when I'm violent and angry, because at least then you know that I'm feeling something. But I can't feel anything.
You're getting up to leave now, a sour look on your face. I watch you dump your coffee down the drain, slip on your jacket, step into your shoes. You look at me once before you head out the door, and I can't tell what that look means. Then you're gone and I'm alone at the breakfast table, empty as I always am.