mornings are
 hazy green.

not fog.
just something thick

i can’t walk through
without forgetting

what i was doing.

i missed the magnolia bloom.
again.

it’s always

just over.

like it was waiting for me
to look away.

i clench my jaw

until it breaks.
rip my heart out of the chest
only to sew it back again
maybe it’s

placebo happiness

through sadness

just enough feeling

to not feel numb.

just enough

to trick myself

into thinking

this is living.

sometimes

i tell myself

everyone hates me.
not dramatically.
just

like a fact.

like a quiet truth

that’s easier
than
well
uncertainty.

maybe this is
diet joy.
lite living.
a knockoff feeling
from the back shelf
that still gets the job done.
placebo soul.

but lately,
i’m scared of being alone.
the shape of my voice.
it knows me
too well
too precisely,
and wants
something
i forgot how to give.