Bad people are doing mean things in the world.
I sense it only as a faint tugging at my heart.
A feeling of homesickness for a place that never existed.
I hurt like I have been pulled by an angry ocean wave.
I am dazed as if I’m riding a two-day hangover.
I want to see my friends.
I can’t talk to any of them.
I want to be alone.
There is none of me left.
So, even alone, I’m left with no one.
If a fleck of me flickers by, I’ll grab it.
And try to mold it into my game face before it dissipates.
Until then I will pile sleep upon itself.
Folding away the danger of being understood.