You know you’re wrong for this, dear. Lol.
I can’t remember the last time my depression crippled my mind this much.
Very rarely does my body actually suffer during depression; I still get up and entertain myself, but the mind is not really there.
It’s been a week and all I dream of is killing myself.
But I can’t. Too scared, too many people left behind, too much to do.
This is a frightening sickness.
But she knows.
And they know.
Why am I the last to know?
Sex is the answer to my anger and (still persisting) depression and misery.
3:22 AM: I’m hallucinating your fingertips—rough and gentle—against the bones of my hips. And then you cup them slightly, perhaps demanding entry into me? Perhaps making sure the viajante in me lies dormant for now.
3:25 AM: Do you see me in your dreams? I see you too often in the chaotic phantasmagoria of my sleep.
3:27 AM: Sleep with me in the forest; let the earth nestle in my short tresses and care for me when the inevitable illness comes.
We never thought
That we would be—
Never thought ourselves
More deserving of each other.
Even the burning trees
Get put out some day.
Just another sleepless morning where I can count my heartbeats to the sound of helicopters flying above.