The chemicals are back,
dancing, rising, playing devil’s fiddle
all over my tender psyche.

I waved them away last week.
But they’re like fruit flies,
feeding on sweet decay.

I tried immersing myself
in copious amounts of cheese and flowers
to ignore the alone- but the alone
wouldn’t leave me be.
Somehow, I tell myself
‘keep moving…’ but there’s a simultaneous
message coming from where the bile rests
telling me to crawl into a hole
and stay there.

It’s not an easy choice.
The voices are fighting,
summer grows near,
and my eyelids hurt.