I know what the waves feel like
in the ebb of high tide,
hurling themselves into destruction.
An intentional fog
in my semi-subconscious dissipates
as I try to carve out your remains
in my swelling heart
with trembling hands
and monsoon thoughts
that haven’t visited since February.
Words are lies
disguised as compassion
reassurance is not real
only action
And I wish for once
I could feel instead of think
and think instead of feel
but the clock strikes confusion
and I yearn to find the needle
sticking pinholes in my brain
the one thing
I could never tune out.