I’m giving up writing
At least as a method to prove something

This table stays shaking
I stay
Nervously typing
This teacup teeters beside me
My face becomes forgotten
Was I ever your friend in the first place?

Blocking out sounds
I hate these smells
I hate these thoughts
Of you

Your name alights my phone
The people in this room
Dim
This is not my home
Will it ever be?

Will I ever be?

Shaking
I look around
Shaking shaking shaking
She really did something with this record
Shaking shaking shaking
New music Friday
Shaking
I’ve only heard the first song

My car is empty
My heart is empty
Too
The check
Pocketed
I
Pocketed too
By you

Nesting dolls
Insomnia
I miss your calls
Temporarily

Is this
A cotton enclosure?
A plastic wrapping?
I feel nothing
Suffocatingly

I worry about this
I worry about that
I worry I worry I worry I worry
I worry until my worries face myself in the mirror
Do I worry about you?
No, never

I can no longer shy away from what was
At once clear
For nothing is clear
Nothing is

Familiar faces litter these spaces
Their eyes’ll glide my periphery
Surely in an effort of erasure
I beg of thee

Shaking
This is not my home
Shaking shaking shaking
You were never my friend
More akin to a pimp
Shaking shaking shaking
Did I really just say that?

I am giving up on writing
At least as a means for communicating

I want nothing to do with you
With you with you with you with you with you with you
With you with you with you with you with you
With you with you with you with you
With you with you with you
With you with you
With me
With
This

Is this stillness?
Or have I begun to burst