this time yesterday I was drunk.
This time I’m sitting on a park bench,
in the cold winter night.
Trying to get high enough to not feel this sorrow that’s been slowly eating at my mind.
I tried to call you but you were busy,
you asked if I was okay
and I told you I was.
I didn’t want to be any more of a bother than I already was.
Instead I sit here,
barely able to type.
Not just from the cold
but from bashing my hand
on a light post
hoping to deceive my mind into only feeling physical pain.
Now I feel both
and I want to sink down
into this bench-
let the night consume me.
I don’t want to be here right now,
not if that means being alone.
Please, pick up the phone