balm

why does stepping out 

on a sunny day

feel like walking under drops of plastic rain 

and the air like sheets of glass

and water running through me

like with its jagged shards

why do i think of you

why do i think

that coming to you

would take that all away

make it all okay

why does

your blanket

feel like home

and the one on my bed

in my room

holds no warmth

why does the soft dim yellow light

in which your room basks

make the light that i hear

as i sit in what was my corner

seem like a thousand

angry agitated

madmen

shouting at me

why do i think of you

when they do

that

why do i think

that if you'd put your arm

around my chest

or let me put mine

around your waist

just by doing that

you could make this cacophony

petter down