from a bed in indiana, the end of seasons

i stifled spring movements, not wanting to feel your hope

and slipped into a self-conscious coma

horizontal peace without pomp and a head stone

i satisfied your need for me to be around

without obligation

i blink

you nod

i hear you

saying a name not chosen

sounds to gain my attention

i got up to rub your empty bottle

three times, i begged to be alone

you found it before me

at the bottom

i gathered my belongings and walked out

golden brown red carpet patches swishing underneath shuffling feet

directionless, hopelessly moving towards fall’s apathy

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