It crept up, it built up, all came as one did
so that you found yourself with a belly full of books and smoke,
and my possible judgment,
and the cancelled plans,
and everything thereafter was a smear of negativity,
more fodder for paranoia,
more reason to jump in a tub and console yourself with all things beige.
There are holes, gaps, torn fibers, tortured ligaments, knots, scarring and calcification.
Iron your muscles out to two dimensions.
Smother them with goodwill—all the people with the snares and evil-bearing faces.
Feel some guilt for estranging at least one person you really do like.
Hear yourself breathe in his ear; listen to him say the emotionless “I love you,” the hook of all hooks (but God, if he knew how little of use you are to anyone, it would save him the trouble).