I never knew the word ‘hi’ could become sandpaper
Rough from overuse, scraping my tongue raw
Livelihoods, years of anxiety, a moment of victory
Boil down to two questions
What you do, where you live
That is all you become in a sea of anonymity
You are all and you are none, hiding from the rain
Desperately clinging to semblances of connection
Prodding at a joke until it decomposes
Nothing grows old when it’s all you have
You laugh until you can’t, smile lines etched
Into your supposedly adult face, chiseled into skin
It rains until you aren’t sure if you’re walking or swimming
Typhoons and hurricanes of pleasantries
Whirling around you, every one steals a bit of light
You watch it leave your chest, sucked into a blur
And you march on, keep paddling, stay afloat
It’ll all get better tomorrow
You return to a room like and unlike your own
Your presence half lingering, a ghost who’s almost gone
Snoring in the background, you sit on clean sheets
No space for both pillows, you’ve made a nest instead
You close your eyes to city sounds and another’s breathing
Green light cast across your face, the only light in the room
You’ve been extinguished, burned out with introductions
As you drift off, you feel the imprint of the word
Blood still flowing from the cuts it made, sharp edges
And brace yourself for the sting of sandpaper once more
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