You think I’m out with people.
Late at night I dance with beer sloshing out of my bottle
and straws flicking out of my thin, bending cup.
I’m busy on my phone
collecting up all the people I dropped in the past year.
I’m meeting people left right and center, going to the movies and having dinner by the lake.
You think I’m doing that
and not laying on the basement carpet staring at the water stains on the ceiling.
You think I’m blasting through this like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done
but I’m here
I’m flipping right here
in the square middle of my bed under my covers with new tears running over the dried tears
with no desire to see or talk to any soul but you.
I hate that you think I’m not doing what I am.