sometimes, i feel like i didn't move to florida at all. sometimes i feel like it was all a cover up for a suicide attempt. some days i feel like i'm being handled with care. people not wanting to let the wrong thing slip out. a fact here or a hint there. keeping the charade in place. come to think of it, there hasn't been an uncomfortable silence since i've been back. so you're all locked and loaded, then? well that's all just fine.
i think about who might have found me; put the whole thing in place. maybe i laid down one night, while i was drying clothes and decided not to get up again. got caught up in a fever, decided to take the whole thing apart. i'm no immune. i crack like we all crack. and sometimes, it's dying or killing. constructing an ending in someone. writing someone out. it comes not a lot, but just to be sure.
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