I get caught up on being negative-
on seeing things with a certain finality.
It's nearly impossible to berate you,
the Departed.
But it's so easy to abuse myself.
My thoughts like little fists,
fight relentlessly.
I am their target.
My soul is a punching bag
to absorb the pain,
the blame, the whole of everything.
I sit in your land. How beautiful it is.
I wonder why I'm here and you're not.
I sleep in your bed,
in your room.
I eat the food that
you should be eating.
I take a shower-
naked without you.
