it's happening again, the detachment,
floating in a sea of terminal self-doubt,
trying to remember how many pills i swallowed before the next batch.
i found my umbrella yesterday.
there are carpet burns on my knees,
and i don't remember why.
i'm so afraid of this feeling,
and hearing your voicemail
makes it worse. (you sound so happy,
but i know the truth: you're so tired,
but your smile is so real.)
wonder what you hear in my voice,
the way it trembles at the end--
if you remember that it was
me that saved you.