SHE WON'T SAY, SHE IS DROWNING

 she knows too much about loneliness

to proclaim that she is content

she won't admit that she is familiar

with the way it wraps its cold arms

around you like a slow fever

there's never any smoke

so you don't notice that you're burning untill you feel like your chest is nailed to the bed

she won't say that she's drowning

in questions no one will ever ask her

         she won't say if no one is there to see                           

         you smile, were you ever really happy?

                  she will comment on her curtains

                   and say she doesn't remember why  

                   she bought them

                    why would she want to block out 

                    the world?

                   why was she ever afraid to let it in?

If phones were portals,

I know i would feel her hand on my cheek

and it would be warm, radiating all the sunlight she has been storing for weeks.

my words are my own pennies in a jar

but we both admit, the clinking of copper

sounds sweeter than silence