She's not been around much, has she?

She's sorry. She knows there's a phantom where her feet used to press into the carpet.

She thinks you hate her, deep down. She knows it, in fact. You told her once.

She watched your eyes for directions and warnings. She's only seen the sun's reflection in them thrice. She keeps a notebook with tally marks.

Her enthusiasm has atrophied, you know? Along with most of her branches.

Less and less has she enjoyed the company of those seeking shade from the noon harshes.

But she discovered, wilt slowly enough and no one notices until the day they wake up and the smell of flowers is gone completely.

Then they merely find a new tree.

You open your mouth and your throat distends due to the mountain of words which could not file out quickly enough. "Drill a hole and climb on through!" say the whys in the back.

The whats start digging. Hey, whoa now, that's an awful lot of space for such little whats, is that completely neccessary? "There are a lot of us down here" say the whos.

The whys rudely shove their way out past the whats, tumble down your favorite shirt, clearly marking their path on the way down.

"Hey!" say the whens, "wait your turn!"

What an overwhelming crowd you have in there!

The wheres plomp themselves down calmly in the back, and watch the ruckus of whos and whats cavorting around on the ground in front of you. You wish they would stop telling everyone that.

Why do they have to know that?! You try to catch the whys and swallow them back to safety, but the whens are blocking the entrance.

You're starting to have trouble breathing, and everyone's looking at you real strange.

You close your mouth.

Notice as we pass the more I sound like you.
an imprint on my spine, my soles, my memories
this is something that you can't undo.
It's all I can do to watch you steeping in these pieces.

There are some cracks and stains I didn't notice before
but take away the expensive lighting and what else would you get?
Spend a lifetime on the upwards
but don't forget to dive.

I can hear your voice and feel you beating underneath my fingertips
it's all I need once in a while, and sometimes is just fine with me.

Do you even realize how you sound right now?

I remember you. And you've forgotten what I know. What you taught me.

I remember your shadows. I can still see them lurking, a constant. Don't you try and shine that damn fool light on them, I will break each and every bulb.

I will break you.

Stop trying to stand up. Could you just be honest with me?

Lose the smirk. I hear your demons scratching at the back of your throat, and you're not scaring anyone but yourself anymore.

Perhaps everyone else likes to pretend they don't see you curled in upon yourself, tracing out a cannibalism you thought you'd gotten rid of. It's always you on the paper.

Maybe they really don't see it. Oh, I pity you.

It's never going to go away, this sickness. Hell, I'm never going to go away.

The sooner you accept all of this the sooner I can help you, or spit at you, or let whatever that's going to happen happen.

So please, can we just get this over with?

Even though most of the time I like to keep my tongue fluttering behind my teeth

it's nice to yell when I'm alone.

Sometimes I'd much rather live under a rock. You know, if there was like bacteria to keep me company.

I'll be needing a roommate. Someone to talk to.
eukaryotes don't talk back.