My Foot Fell Asleep

He thinks I’m way too thin,
and he always wants to know if I’m sick.
The answer
isn’t what you’ve ever wanted to hear, however.
So maybe I’ll tell you next time.

I never thought that I would be sleeping on the floor,
but the bed is much too hard
and disgusting
to look at yet.

It’s probably a good thing
that those horror movies
we stay up late, laughing hysterically at aren’t real,
because we’re just what they’re looking for.


Peter keeps telling me that,
I’ll make it out alive if I just keep watching Frasier at 1 AM
and drinking decaffeinated coffee until I want to puke,
though my sudden urges to count tiles on the kitchen floor, and cracks in the ceiling won’t go away
and I don’t think he knows what’s best this time.
I know I need to talk to you,
but your eyes don’t look like mine anymore,
and your face tends to get longer
every time you see me.
If I worried you grey at seventeen,
I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all,
not even after you make me drink hot milk like you always did,
when I couldn’t sleep back in those brown apartments I used to live in,
when my mom still had her dreams
and would come home.

I promise I won’t wear my Iron Maiden t-shirt,
                so he can love me this time.