Get Well Soon

Laptop betrayed me,

Wallet passed away,

My greatest love departed.

I’ll be 33 in fifteen days.

When does this get better?

I forgot the part

Where my hair stopped mattering,

Where school starts soon,

And I hate math,

And the world keeps on turning.

When does this get better?

Foreplay is foreign,

But I still arrive,

I still enjoy it

And love him,

But my emptiness

And my body

Have both become wider.

When does this get better?

I sleep all day,

I’m up all night,

I “don’t do anything,”

But struggle.

Cigarettes are empty friends.

“Coping” is autopilot.

When does this get better?