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
