FEEL

the clock ticks past 11:00 pm.
feel the cold wood of your front porch on your bare feet.
feel the headlights of the taxi cab as it passes down your cul-de-sac.
feel the burn of the cigarette in your lungs as you inhale.
you're a person - you're alive, but who cares?
but then again, what good is worrying if nobody cares?
feel the condescending rumbling of your stomach.
feel the clouded night sky watch over your activites.
feel the neighbour's front light flicker through your body like you're made of cheap plastic.
keep feeling. keep breathing.
everything's so quiet that it's almost empty:
and you're a person - you're alive.
everyone cares.
did you take your meds?
(right, fuck, you forgot again.)
your prescription doubles from one tablet to two, two to four.
you can't keep track.
feel the thoughts fog up your head as you tilt it back further.
feel the (insanity) ecstasy dribble out your ears.
feel the wind chill your spine and make you ache.
will you hold my hand, just this once?
walk me through the every nook and cranny of your brain.
i've been here before - you know it;
we are one in the same.
the clock ticks past 11:00 pm.

04/01/23
updated - 07/12/23
- ch.rlie