“you’re doing that quiet thing again.”
she mutters.
I try to push satellite signals
to her, but
my mind is an AM radio
in an FM town.
There is a silence between us
that mutes the static.
I wish I was brave enough
to tell you; you’re the only one
I would.
Can’t you see my paling skin?
My dark circles and
thinning figure?
“i like it better when you’re bubbly.”
she mummers.
Believ me, I liked it too-
Liked when I could bump against
someone and not bruise.
when I wasn’t continually cold
and could laugh easier
when my breathing was unmechanical.
“you’re doing that quiet thing again.”
she whispers.
Yet, I’m sick of being quiet
but sick of being
sick